


The White Pawn's Gambit

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in a sort of alternate Mists of Pandaria time setting.  When both sides come together in Dalaran to try and find a peaceful solution, Anduin Wrynn finds his life being set on a new path in a most unlikely direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Although it could be considered that there is a non-con aspect to his story, I don't anticipate there being any rape, more along the lines of very dubious participation.
> 
> I wasnt going to start posting this till I finished it, but Ive been enjoying writing it so much, I gave into temptation. 
> 
> Alternatedoom is to blame. Just saying.

It had been a very long time since the Warchief of the Horde had walked the streets of Dalaran.  Neither expected or desired, it was permitted as a final effort to initiate a peace agreement.  Or even a truce.  Something to give pause to the endless conflict, to allow both sides time to find a way through the chaos growing on the world below them.

Most knew that nothing useful was likely to come of it but the war was bleeding both the Horde and the Alliance to death and the Kirin Tor eventually agreed.  Under strict conditions.

The Alliance delegation had arrived first.  The King brought a small group of advisers and the permitted number of Royal Guards.

And his son, notwithstanding his loudly stated concerns.  But Anduin had been adamant, for once.   “If I am to learn to take your place one day,” he had stated calmly, “I must interact with those powers in the world we contest with.”  And he’d smiled in a way that had always reminded his father so much of his dead wife, the sweet smile of the child he no longer was, the smile he could hardly ever refuse.

Anduin thought the rumours of Garrosh’ size and power were overblown, but the first sight of him proved otherwise.  The Orc was enormous.  He towered above the humans and other Alliance races, and viewed them all with an obvious distain – when he wasn’t ignoring them altogether.

Anduin had taken rooms in the Legerdemain and was sitting on the balcony as the Horde party rode by.  As he looked down, fascinated, Garrosh glanced up and their eyes met.  He couldn’t look away, but stared wide-eyed as the Warchief’s gaze fixed on him.  And then he smiled, a small, amused twist of the big mouth, before he turned away and rode past.

The talks were not set to begin until later in that day, and Anduin used the time to explore Dalaran, a place he had never previously visited.  He came upon a doorless opening in a wall with a ramp leading down, an obviously well-trodden walkway that led into the Underbelly of the city.  It was a gloomy, shadowed place, an unexpected aspect of the bright, magical city above.  Spider webs hung gleaming with moisture, rather unpleasant water ran down the centre of the passageways and the walls were damp and stained.  Echoes of voices bounced off the walls, he heard distant laughter and the scuttling sound of rats.  It seemed a very seedy sort of place but he kept going, curious. 

Stairs leading down from the main passage tempted him further  to investigate.  A goblin standing at the bottom looked up at him and pointed to the sign on the wall, worded in multiple languages. 

_Sanctuary rules are  partially withdrawn here upon accepting challenge. Exiting a ring ends a challenge.  Fights to the death are forbidden. The Challenge Rules will be enforced._

_By order of the Kirin Tor_

Not that many rules for something that violent, Anduin thought as he slipped around the side of the entrance and found a seat on one of the raised wooden benches.  There were three rings; two smaller ones at each end of the challenge zone, a large ring in the centre.  All the rings had fights going on, and a great deal of shouting and exchanging of bets made the cavernous room buzz.  In one of the smaller rings, two blood elf mages were stoushing it out, flinging spells at each other at fantastic speed.  At the other end a male blood elf and a female Night Elf, both armed with staves, moved around each other like dancers .  A group of male Orcs watched them with fascinated interest.

And in the middle, the main source of attention for the room’s occupants, was Garrosh.  He faced not one, but two men; apparently he’d accepted dual challenge for unarmed combat. 

 _Now that was a really silly idea, fellows_.  Difficult enough for a normal warrior to take on an Orc like Garrosh fully armed and armoured.  For them to duel him unarmed was very foolish.  But interference was obviously not an option.

He watched the disaster unfold.  The two men charged Garrosh from different directions, obviously hoping to gain advantage from splitting their force.  Garrosh didn’t even bother to turn.  He simply lashed out at the first to arrive, grabbed the man’s arm and flung him around like a living club.  The second warrior was thrown backwards by the impact of the first.  From the screams, Anduin though that joints had certainly been dislocated, and probably multiple bones broken.  They both landed outside the ring, and the bout was over.  It had taken no more than five seconds.

That was one thing he could do something about.  He slid down from the seat and ran across to kneel beside the two men.  One was unconscious and bleeding from his nose, the other was sobbing in pain and trying to lift an arm that was bent at an unnatural angle. 

A voice rumbled from above him.  “Come to accept my challenge, little Prince?”

He glanced up, briefly.  “Not just now. Warchief.”

Garrosh grinned and wiped a hand down his sweat-slicked chest.  “I’ll wait while you fix these whipped dogs.”

Anduin placed his hands on the badly broken arm, closed his eyes, and whispered a Prayer.  Light gathered around his hands, glowing in response to his request, infusing him with its powerful but benevolent strength.  He directed it downwards into the damaged tissue, finding the break and healing it, mending the torn tissue around the break and sealing torn blood vessels.  When he was done he blinked and sighed, warmed as always by the Light’s blessing.  The man whispered his thanks and he nodded, turning to the second.  A broken nose, a nasty bang on the head, the healing took only moments.  Both men saluted him and limped slowly out of the challenge area.

“Impressive.  Do you fight as prettily as you heal?  Or does the Prince of Stormwind just  touch better men than himself?”

The room quietened.  Anduin stood, wiping his hands down his trousers.  It was a challenge, and he knew he could walk away and most people wouldn’t consider it shameful because he was eighteen and heir to the throne of Stormwind, and Garrosh was, well, Garrosh.  But there were members of the Alliance watching him, and he was Varian Wrynn’s son.  There was a great deal more involved than his pride…

He stood and slowly stripped off his shirt.  “I accept your challenge.  I may set the fight conditions, I believe?”

The smile that lit the orc’s eyes was immense.  “You may, Prince.  A gunship, perhaps?”

Anduin kicked off his boots and turned, stretching his arms and legs.  “Unarmed combat.  Best two out of three falls.”

If the room had been quiet before, it was deadly still at that.  Even Garrosh reacted.  Surprise, distrust, delight, Anduin saw them all and he thought, I imagined they were beasts without a depth of feeling, and how wrong it is to assume anything.

He stepped into the ring just inside the outer boundary and at the furthest point from Garrosh.  As the goblin announced the challenge and began the countdown he flexed and warmed his muscles, fixing his attention on the big Orc.  The count reached zero and it began.  Garrosh moved forward in a rush, obviously intent on finishing the fight in a single fall.  As he made the centre Anduin sprinted forward, then ducked into a full length forward body roll.  He struck Garrosh at ankle height, twisted between the orc’s legs as he stumbled, grabbed both big ankles and pulled.

Garrosh hit the floor like a falling tree.

Anduin rolled on top of him, grabbed the nearest large pierced ear and whispered, “One.”

He straightened and stood in the midst of a suddenly silent room.  He was aware of being watched, of their stunned amazement, but his entire concentration was on Garrosh.  The Warchief climbed to his feet, eyes narrowed, expression feral.   He moved backward to the ring’s edge, not taking his eyes off Anduin.  When the countdown ended the second time he moved more slowly, crouching, hands out to grasp.  Anduin danced around him, waiting for a charge, calculating his moves.  Then Garrosh lunged to the right, far faster than such a big body should be able to move.  Anduin dodged to the left, then realised at the last moment it had been a feint.  A big fist thudded into his side, knocking him backwards.  He tried to roll and land on his feet but Garrosh leg-swept his feet from under him and he landed on his back, the wind knocked from him.

The Orc bent over him, eyes gleaming.  “Two” he hissed, then pressed down on Anduin’s already bruised side.

He felt ribs crack and groaned at the sudden pain.  The sound carried and the Horde watchers cheered their approval.  The fact that the injury had happened after the fall was counted didn’t seem to bother them.  The cries of “foul” came entirely from the Alliance.

Anduin laid one hand on his side and winced, automatically calling on the Light.  The goblin ringmaster smashed his staff on the ground.  “No healing during the match!”

He stood carefully, favouring that side, and wiped the perspiration soaked hair from his eyes.  His opponent’s skin gleamed with sweat and Anduin’s irrelevant thought was, _at least I’ve made him work for it._   He knew he couldn’t defeat Garrosh on the basis of strength, and his advantage of speed was diminished with the injury.  The only thing left to him was cunning.

The goblin ringmaster confirmed the challenge numbers as even, and began his countdown for the final round.  As he reached one, Anduin staggered and groaned, dipping his head and going down to his knees.  Two large feet appeared in his view.  “Do you concede the ma….”

He surged upwards, the top of his head connecting with Garrosh’s chin.  The Warchief’s head snapped up as blood sprayed out from a bitten tongue.  Anduin ignored the thumping pain in his head and the split in his side as he grabbed hold of the Orc’s loinguard, leveraged himself around behind Garrosh and thrust down on the big Orc’s hips, pushing himself onto Garrosh’s shoulders.  He wrapped his legs around the thick neck and squeezed.

Garrosh grabbed Anduin’s legs and pulled them from his throat.  Anduin tumbled over his head, grabbed both large ears and kicked with all his strength into the Orc’s stomach.

He landed on his feet, almost falling, as Garrosh hit the ground for the second time.

The Alliance watchers yelled their approval, stomping and cheering.  The Horde audience just looked stunned. 

Anduin hobbled forward, bent, and tapped Garrosh on the forehead.  “Two out of three.  My win.” 

He held out his hand and Garrosh looked at it for a few thoughtful moments, then carefully took it in his own large grip. He let Anduin help him to his feet, though the Prince suspected he didn’t really need the help.  It was a gesture from both sides; from the human to the orc he had bested, and from the orc to the human who had done something few humans ever had.  He looked into the face looming above him and he saw a gleam of respect in the dark eyes.

The Orc wiped a smear of blood from his chin, reached out and spread  the blood across Anduin’s cheek.  He bent forward and spoke in a hissing whisper.  “There, I’ve gifted you with my blood, little Prince.  Wear it with pride.”

He watched Garrosh walk away, straight-backed and proud, as if being beaten by an eighteen year old human was nothing important.  Anduin went back to the seat and collected his clothes, assisted by some very satisfied Alliance soldiers.  He thanked them with a smile.  “I don’t suppose any of you bet on me,” he said, and they all had the grace to look ashamed.  “Well, remember it in future.  Never assume, gentleman.”

He waved a genial salute at them as he walked back to his rooms for a bath, some healing and the inevitable talk with his father.

 

It went as well as he’d expected.

“I cannot believe you could be so foolish.  Not just to fight an Orc in unarmed combat.  But to fight Garrosh, of all Orcs.  What possessed you?  Were you drunk?”

Anduin took in a deep breath, then winced at the still-sore rib.  Varian immediately softened.  “You’re injured.  Do you need assistance?”

“No.  Just two broken ribs.  I’ve given them healing, but they’re still tender and they sliced my lung a little.” He gave his father a crooked grin.  “Only hurts when I breathe.”

Varian resumed his pacing, reminding Anduin of the wolf his father had once been named for.  “It’s a wonder you’re breathing at all.  I assume I have Mathias Shaw to thank for your training.”

“Of course.  We both knew I’d never match my father in size or strength, so I needed a fighting style better suited to my stature.  He had me taught what he called gutter fighting.  Dirty, down and dead, was his motto.”

Varian filled his cup with wine and took a deep drink.  That was about the only sign of his agitation, though Anduin’s Light sense allowed him to understand it better.  That, and eighteen years of being his father’s son.  “Well, you survived, so I’ll have to reward him with something when we get back.  Just promise me not to do that again.  I don’t need more grey hairs.”

“I promise.”  Anduin nodded and sipped his own wine.  “Believe me when I say, fighting a nearly naked Garrosh in a challenge den is not something I plan to try again.”  He wondered then if his father was remembering his own time as an enslaved pit fighter.  Those were dark years that the King of Stormwind had supposedly put behind him.  Anduin doubted it, though.  Some memories wouldn’t go away no matter how you wished they would.

Anduin was well enough to attend the day’s talks, and though he didn’t speak he listened, and watched.  They didn’t go very well, but he’d hardly expected otherwise.  The Horde representatives took an aggressive approach, with a list of wants that was simply untenable to the Alliance.  Giving up bases and towns, removing troops from Kalimdor entirely, hostages to be given, restitution to be paid, a whole list of impossible demands.  That session devolved into a snarling match of launched and matched accusations until both parties looked ready to hurl themselves across the table at each other.

Eventually it ended no further along than it had started.  The only positive was that no one had died.

The King wasn’t in a mood for eating, so Anduin dressed himself for dinner and headed out to find some interesting company.  He was reading a map to find the best eatery when a familiar voice came from behind.

“Did you enjoy the discussion today, Prince?”

He turned slowly, eyes lifting to Garrosh’s face.  “I can’t say that I did, Warchief.  It was about as balanced as a gnome on stilts.”

Garrosh chuckled.  “True.  I was about to eat, would you care to join me?”

He almost asked _Eat who?_ but thought better of it. He started to say, _thanks but I have another engagement_ but it came out as “Yes.”  One word, just enough to make him question his sanity.  Since he was obviously out of his mind, and Garrosh didn’t seem intent on offering another challenge of any sort, he followed the Warchief through the busy street and up to the entrance of the Horde enclave.  The Sunreaver guards at the entrance stepped forward and raised their weapons at his approach.  “Alliance may not enter,” the first guard said, but Garrosh waved one hand.

“The Prince is here as my guest.”

“Guest or no, the Sanctuary rules are set by the Kirin Tor.  Alliance personnel may not enter.”

Garrosh bent forward and hissed in the mage’s face.  “Let him pass.  Or I’ll rip your face off and feed it to my wolf.”

The mage took a step back and glanced at his companion, who shrugged.  “On his head be it, Benion.”

Garrosh grunted as the two mages stepped aside.  Anduin winked at them as he passed, and smiled at their annoyed glare.  “I think you just pissed off all the Sunreavers, and Aethas will probably turn up shortly and polymorph me into a sheep.”

“He can try.  Blood elves give me a bumrash.”  Anduin took in all the sights, knowing he’d be unlikely ever to see inside the Horde enclave again.  The sign above the inn door made him laugh.  “The Filthy Animal?”

“Better than ‘A Heroe’s Welcome’.  Sounds like the greeting you get from the doorman of a brothel.  ‘Ah hero, step inside, we’ve heard all about your big cock!’”

Anduin couldn’t help laughing.  He’d been raised in an environment of polite conversation and restrained language, but the mere fact that Garrosh had a sense of humour was sort of entrancing.

A rather large female Orc greeted them at the door and her two big worgen pets sniffed Anduin suspiciously.

“Good watchdogs,” he said, eyeing them warily and Garrosh patted him on the shoulder. 

“They’d like to invite you for lunch too.  Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Funny.”  He noticed that all the Horde in the tavern’s main room had stopped whatever they were doing and were watching him, looking variously bemused and surprised.  He felt like shouting the room a drink, just to see the reaction, but Garrosh led him upstairs to a private balcony dining area before he could act on it.

When the server arrived to take their orders, he let Garrosh order for him.  While he could speak Orcish (another lesson from the SI:7) he couldn’t read it, and just hoped he wouldn’t end up with boiled lizard gizzards or something equally revolting.  It turned out to be fish, something from the Northrend oceans baked in a butter sauce, with vegetables, freshly baked herb bread and a mug of spicy apple wine.  Garrosh dined on a haunch of spit-roasted deer, and Anduin watched fascinated as he tore into the meat with his tusks, and as the juices ran down his chin.

An odd, very strange desire to lick the juices away from that big chin made him blink.  _Where in the light had that come from?_   He looked down at his own food blindly.  Perhaps he should talk to his Cleric about it when he got home.  He might need to balance himself somehow.  And immediately do something that stopped the nascent erection that was stirring in his pants.

Anduin squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and took another swig of the potent apple wine.  Then another, just to be sure the first one went down right. 

“You should watch yourself,” Garrosh muttered, and Anduin’s eyes flew up, wide, wondering _did he see something??_ But Garrosh finished, “because that wine is a lot stronger than the weak piss you Alliance drink.  Might go to your pretty head.”

“I’m fine, thank you.  Some of our wine is quite strong.” 

Garrosh grunted and wiped his hand across his mouth.  “If you say so.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And saying so didn’t occur to him at all as the night wore on and he continued to eat and drink.  Musicians and singers drifted in at some stage, making something the Horde apparently called music which involved a lot of stamping, howling and yowling about spikes and knives and big hairy thighs.   At least, he thought it was thighs, his ability to translate wore thin as the night went on.

He didn’t remember a great deal about the later part of the evening, except he seemed to recall sitting on Garrosh’s lap admiring his chin and saying something about licking it…or perhaps he just thought that and didn’t actually say it.  He may have imagined a giant hand exploring his body, touching him somewhere that made a sizzling sensation go all the way from his backbone to his hips and back again.  And he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t find out it was actually possible to kiss an Orc even with all those tusks and teeth in the way, or that it would be as gentle and possessive as it was.

It might just have been the wine.

He woke up the next morning in his own bed in the Legerdemain with a massive hangover  and a confusing and worrying set of memories.

 _What the fuck did I do last night?_   Thinking the F word seemed the least of his sins.

A cold bath, coffee and a change of clothes did something to push the hangover aside, and a little self-healing took away the worst symptoms.  It meant he was well enough to face his father and the natural questions that followed.  Where had he been all night?  Why did he look like something the murloc dragged in?  Anduin did his best not to lie, just sort of twisted the truth a bit.  Went out with friends to dinner, drank a bit too much, slept it off.  All true.  Just missing a few bits.  Like apparently having some form of intimacy with his father’s greatest enemy while sitting on his lap and kissing him.  No real need to mention that.

Missing out on the day’s talks would have looked bad so he turned up, sat in a back corner and nursed his sense of _Stupid Anduin_ alone.  It was only when Garrosh enter and took his place that he his concentration focused.  The Warchief didn’t glance his way; his entire attention was centred on Varian.

“I have a proposition for the Alliance.”

Varian watched the Orc, frowning.  “Another one?”

“Yes.  You might find this one interesting.  I am prepared to offer a complete cessation of current hostilities, the return of Theramore to your control and a promise not to invade or enter any territory currently held by the Alliance for…shall we say…five years.”

The entire Alliance party straightened.  This was more than anything previously even suggested.  Varian was naturally suspicious.  “That seems…very generous.  What do you want in exchange.”

“Just one thing.”  Garrosh matched Varian’s stare intently.  “I want your son.  Give Anduin to me and you can have it all.”

The room exploded.  Every Alliance member was on their feet in an instant, matched by the defensive stance of the Horde.  Garrosh didn’t move, he just stared at Varian’s red and furious face. 

And Anduin’s heart thumped so hard and fast he thought he might suffer an attack.  Holding himself together, he stood and stumbled over to sit next to his father.  He put a hand on Varian’s arm, felt the big muscles tensed so tightly that the arms of the chair creaked under his grasp.  He knew his father was moments away from entering a berserker rage that would trigger a bloodbath.

“Father.  Stop.  Don’t.”  He stroked his father’s arm slowly, calling on the Light, sending its soothing balm into his father’s body.  “Be calm.  Focus, listen to me.”

Varian turned, and Anduin saw his eyes were red, flushed with broken blood vessels.  He blinked, dragged in a breath.  “Anduin….I….can’t….stop….”

Anduin jumped up, crawled onto his lap and hugged him.  “Yes you can.  Just pull back.  Put it away.  Put the wolf away.”

It was the only way he could think of to keep his father alive.  Varian would not risk his son’s life, would not release the killing rage with Anduin so close to him.  Shaking, his features twisted by the effort, Varian slowly backed down.  He hissed, glaring past his son lying against his chest.

“I will die. Before I let you touch…my son.”

“Then you let thousands of your people die for it.  My Orcs are stronger, we breed faster, we grow faster.  We will overwhelm you in time.”  Garrosh’s head was dipped to his chest as he licked his tusks.  “I give you a chance for the peace your people crave.  In your place I would not hesitate to accept such an unbalanced offer.  One life for thousands.  And he wouldn’t even die.  He would be my hostage for the honour of you and your Alliance.”  Garrosh stood slowly.  “Your convictions and words lack courage.  Your son is stronger than you, Varian Wynn.  He at least faces me and accepts me one on one.  You can only face me with an army at your back.”  The Warchief walked to the door, unconcerned at offering his back to his foe.  “The offer stands for one day.  After that, hostilities resume.”

 

Anduin sat before a table in his father’s room, looking blindly out through the window, a cup of tea going cold next to his elbow.  He’d sat there for an hour, trying to think, waiting for his father to recover his wits.  The berserk rage was hard on him, it consumed his mind and body in readiness for unnatural strength and aggression, it made him what he was, the greatest living Warrior.  But it came with a price.  It sapped his mind and body and he was slow to return to himself.

But it gave Anduin time to think.  First reaction to the Orcish offer had been shock.  Quickly followed by fear.  Plus a whole lot of peripheral emotions all tied up with worry for his father.    It took some calming mediation to start untangling the feelings, to quell the shaking in his stomach and settle himself to think.

And once he had time to do that, calmly, he knew he would accept.  Assuming he could convince his father, which would be a daunting task.  But as soon as he had considered the offer, the Light had flared inside his mind bearing the certain knowledge that it was his path.  This was what he was meant to do, perhaps even from his birth.  He could easily have been made in his father’s image; a strong warrior, a man of battle, a leader of the Alliance.  Yet he wasn’t, not really.  He was a Priest, centred and whole within the Light.  His strength was that of endurance and patience, of a certain clever way of thinking, and the ability to touch unlikely hearts.

He felt that the time of living with his father was over, and that the next stage of his life would take him on an altogether different path.


	2. Pawn to Castle

Anduin had sent a message to Garrosh asking to meet at the small park near the Antonidas statue, and he waited on a bench in one corner, eyes closed as he relaxed in the sun.

The sun made him drowsy, despite all the worries.  _I need your wisdom, Master Antonidas_ he thought as he half-opened his eyes.  _Any hints?  Suggestions? Nothing?_ The dead just never seemed very helpful, all in all.

“I could have killed you in six different ways before you even opened your eyes.”

Anduin blinked and focused on Garrosh.  He blocked out the sun, throwing a long shadow across the bench where Anduin sat.  “Well, that would have effectively put an end to talks.  And you wouldn’t need to rescind your offer.”  

The Warchief sat on the grass cross-legged, with his back to the statue.  Even sitting below Anduin, their eyes were still more or less level.  “My offer ends in a few hours, it won’t be necessary rescind anything.  If you are here with a message from your father…”

“No, I’m here with a question from myself.”

“Which is?”

“Why?”

Garrosh frowned.  “Why what?”

“Why that single condition?  Why me?  Yes, I realise how you having me hostage would cause my father pain..”

“You don’t think my causing your father pain is reason enough?”

“Not really.  It benefits the Alliance, the only thing you would achieve is the distress it would cause my father.  It doesn’t make sense.”

Garrosh stretched out his legs and folded his big hands across his lap.  “I don’t need to explain my reasons to you.  But, “ he said, forestalling Anduin’s response, “I will anyway.  I want you because – I want you.  Aside from the delicious anguish it will cause Varian Wrynn for every moment that I have you – I want you, for yourself.”  And he smiled, as if that answered every question Anduin might have.  It actually just generated a whole lot more, as well as a nasty _zap_ effect as if he’d been lightning-struck.

Garrosh reached forward to prod Anduin in the chest.  “Breathe, boy.  That’s better.  Does the idea of my wanting you shock you?”

“Its…a bit alarming.”  _To say the least._  “I don’t quite…see why, still.”

Garrosh bent forward and ran his hand slowly up Anduin’s leg.  He reached his thigh and curled his large fingers under Anduin’s leg, the finger tips resting under the edge of his buttocks.  “When I do this, when I touch you like this, I want it to be where there can be no arguments, nobody rushing to your defence, nobody but me to hold you and control you and teach you.  Who.  Is.  Your.  Master.”  With each final word he pushed one of his fingers against Anduin’s groin.  “And I will master you, whelp.  I’ve tamed many wolves in my time.  Taming the Wolf’s son will be a fine challenge.”  He took his hand away and smelled his fingers.  “You might enjoy it.”

Anduin found it odd how he could be frozen in shock and fascinated at the same time.  He licked suddenly dry lips and shook his head to clear it.  “That…doesn’t sound like…something my father would agree to.”

Garrosh shrugged.  “Then don’t tell him.  Or tell him whatever you want.  There will be conditions about your care, you can’t be killed or permanently harmed unless there is proof of a major Alliance breach of the terms.  Which I’m sure there wouldn’t be.”  He stood and dusted grass of his legs.  “Tell him whatever he needs  to know.”

“Ten years,” he said abruptly.  “The peace will last for ten years.”

The Warchief paused in turning away and the smile grew.  “Very well.  Ten years.  Who knows, I might even tire of you before then and send you home.”  His eyes gleamed.  “But I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you.”

Anduin thought it might all be moot anyhow, since the chances were very good his father was already packing in preparation to leave.  In fact, that was very much the case, with letters despatched and the Royal Guard preparing to move out of their Dalaran quarters. 

And all the arguments Anduin presented in favour of it failed.  His father was variously angry, puzzled, shocked, unhappy and determined.  There was no way he would hand his son to that monster Garrosh.  If the beast had offered that every Orc alive would leap into some bottomless chasm, he still wouldn’t accept it.  Varian steadfastly refused to hear the logic or it, or that Anduin’s belief the Light wanted him to go.  Finally, after an hour of argument with a headache the only result, Anduin knew that persuading his father as things stood was impossible.  There was another way but it had its own dangers and it relied on Garrosh being a great deal more honourable than most people felt he could be.

Late that evening, when everyone else in the party had gone to bed, Anduin dressed for travel, packed a small bag of personal items and went to the entry of the Horde enclave.  He had another message sent in for Garrosh, and waited, walking back and forth, wondering if he was indeed acting on the prompting of a Higher Power or just quietly losing his mind a bit at a time.

When the obviously annoyed Warchief turned up he forestalled questions by speaking first.  “Take me with you now.”

The big Orc blinked.  “What?”

“Now.  Leave now, get me inside, teleport me to Orgrimmar.”

Garrosh’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Your father would come after you and try to blast his way into my city regardless of the cost.”

“I’ve sent messages to the rest of the Alliance leaders.  I’ve told them I’ve agreed to go with you under the stated terms, including the ten year peace period.  My father is the High King of the Alliance but the racial leaders still have an equal say in governing policy.  If I have agreed, being the affected party, they will almost certainly make him accept that.”

Garrosh mulled over the possibilities.  “Why should they agree?”

“Policy, logic, expedience.  They’ll want to save their people, to recover and rebuild under the peace terms.  They don’t have the personal investment in me that my father has, as much as they will understand his situation.  If you leave your copy of the Treaty signed and with the Kirin Tor, he can add his signature later and it will be sealed.”

The Warchief tipped up Anduin’s chin to study him.  “Have you considered that your father is a warrior, and warriors can die in battle.  If he does, you will be King.  What then?”

Anduin shrugged.  He hadn’t thought of it, but he didn’t often consider his father dying.  “Then you will have a King as hostage.”

Garrosh nodded slowly.  “You father will be very angry.  Very, very angry.”  A smile twisted his lips.  “That crazy wolf could do something really stupid, like coming after you alone.”  He looked hopeful as the idea occurred to him.

Anduin twisted his chin away from the grasp.  “I left him a message explaining things and asking him not to do anything, umm, ill-considered.  But yes, he’ll be angry at me.”

“You put a lot of trust in me, boy.  With the Treaty sealed, you have some safeguards.  Until it is, you have none.”

“I know.”  Anduin shivered and told himself it was just the cold night air.  “But I’m prepared to take that risk.”

“You will have no way to say your goodbyes, no time for loving last words from son to father.”

“I know.”  He ran shaking fingers through his hair, fighting the tight misery in his chest.  “I..can’t.  If I see him again I won’t be able to go.  So I just have to leave without a goodbye.”

Garrosh nodded, approvingly.  “Brave pup.”  He gestured forward with one hand towards the Horde enclave.  “Very well, if you are so willing, Anduin Wrynn, then so am I.  Welcome to the Horde.”

 

Orgrimmar was impressive, and very Orcish.  It was built against the natural fortification of high hills in the north of Durotar, with the open sides enclosed by huge stone walls capped with spikes.  Flights of warriors mounted on windriders soared over the city and a legion of guards patrolled its battlements and passageways and stood guard over its entries.  As he looked up he caught sight of brightly coloured Zeppelin announcing its arrival from Undercity and heading for its docking tower. 

It was a busy, crowded place, even more so than Stormwind.  Each corner he turned gave him a new sight to see, new things to store away to write about to his father.

An Orc sat outside his leatherworks shop hammering at a set of boots; orc children chased a wolf pup down a side street; a goblin dragged his cart crying “Toys for sale, get yer fancy doodads and invaluable treasures here, going real cheap….”; Blood elves in gold and red looked down on him with the green-eyed arrogance of their kind as they passed; a Tauran druid in cat form sat licking its paws next to a meat shop; someone had a kite flying from a rooftop balcony and he caught the smell of fruit pies baking as they passed a cooking brazier.  It was alien and noisy, bright and odorous, and it saturated his senses.  Rest dust swirled around his feet, warm air blew his hair back, laughter and a ribald joke floated out from a tavern.  Life thrummed around him.

He’d never expected it to be so vibrant, so…homely.  Because it was home, to thousands of Orcs and Troll, Goblins and Blood Elves, Taurens and even the eerie Forsaken.  It was the capital city of the Horde, of the enemy of his people, and he still found it fascinating.

His two Orc guards walked beside him, guiding him through the crowds to his new quarters.  He’d been told by Garrosh in definite terms not to disobey them.  “They’re not guarding you, they’re protecting you.  Humans do not normally visit Orgrimmar, and a lone human could get themselves killed.  If they tell you not to do something, then don’t do it.  They are following my orders, and so will you.” 

He’d been quite forceful about it, both to Anduin and the guards.  There had been a fair bit of chest thumping, Lok’tar ogaring and something about the Eyes of the Warchief.  The two orcs might not be grateful for being put in charge of a human, but they seemed to be taking the job seriously.  When he tried to wander aside to investigate and interesting looking passage near a pond that wound down into shadowed darkness, they dragged him back from it.  They didn’t feel the need to explain, but Anduin added it to the “take a closer look at that” list he was mentally compiling.

His rooms were in Grommash Hold, the Warchief’s enormous headquarters.  The throne room, which doubled as a council chambers, was at the front on ground level, and living quarters for the Warchief and his court lay behind that, and up a set of stairs to a second level.  Anduin was given a sleeping room next to the Warchief, with a small attached privy and wash stand.  The guards had told him that there was a communal bath not too far away which he could visit when he wanted to be clean, and plenty of places to choose from for food.  His main meals would be served in the Hold but there would be time to visit other places of entertainment, of which the city apparently had plenty.  Orcs seemed to enjoy their entertainments.

When Anduin and his guards arrived at the Hold, the Hold guards informed his own Orcs that a session was in progress.  His guards whispered that he should be quiet as they led him inside.  He stood off to the side of the room and looked about, curious.

Banners hung from the walls and there were no windows, only alcoves lit by torches.  The room was circular, with the Warchief’s throne at the back and two tiers of benches around the walls.  Anduin slid into a vacant spot near the door to watch and listen.

The Warchief sat on his throne, dressed in full ceremonial armour.  TheTusks of Mannoroth arched over his shoulder pads, worn as casually as cloth despite the size and obvious weight.  A big belt embossed with a skull circled his waist, he wore matching red iron gloves and bracers, leather pants and fur-lined metal boots.  This was no casual attire, it was the armour of a Warchief, designed to intimidate.

The troll standing in front of him didn’t appear too intimidated.   Even from the back, the elaborate troll armour identified the Troll leader, Vol’jin.  He was being berated by his Warchief, and not taking it too well.

“…and I’ll be doin’ what I think’s best for my people, Warchief!”

Garrosh leant forward and glared.  “You’ll do what I tell you to do, Troll.  I’m sick of your whining and your people’s disobedience.  I,” he roared, thumping his chest, “am Warchief of the Horde.  Either challenge me to Mak’gora, or do what you’re told!”

Vol’jin shook his head.  “I’m not wantin’ to lead the Horde.  Leadin’ my own people be enough work for me for a lifetime.”

“Unless you want that lifetime shortened, get out of here and send those lazy peons of yours into the city to do the work I ordered a week ago.”  His glare became feral.  “Don’t make me tell you again.”

The troll bowed and turned, stalking towards the door, followed by his retinue.  Garrosh sat back with a snort of annoyance.  He caught sight of Anduin, and one eyebrow lifted.  “Come here.”

Anduin stood and walked slowly across the big patchrug in the centre of the room.  He climbed the few steps before the throne and when he reached the top Garrosh grabbed him and swung him around.

“This is Prince Anduin Wrynn, Crown Prince of Stormwind.  He is my guest for some time and will be treated accordingly.  Introduce yourself to him, and someone get me a drink.  I need to get the taste of Troll breath out of my throat.”

Anduin spoke to the Horde representatives, exchanging pleasantries as he would to his own people.  The red headed Blood Elf Ambassador, Ambassador Dawnsinger, was charming if cool and  Gotura Fourwinds spoke in a deep slow voice typical of his Tauren people.  He noted there didn’t appear to be any representatives from the Forsaken or Goblin peoples and when he asked Gotura whispered that the Warchief disliked both the Undead and the little Goblins and kept them out of the Hold. 

Most Orcs he met treated him with hatred at worst and curiosity or disinterest at best.  The old Orc who strolled over to greet him was curious, but friendly.  Anduin smiled at him and returned his salute.

“I am called Eitrigg, young Prince.  An amazing day to be alive, to see a human Prince in Orgrimmar.”  He hesitated, his old eyes thoughtful.  “Do you, by any chance, know a human called Tirion Fordring?”

“I know of him, of course, but have not met him myself.”

“He lives still?” the Eitrigg asked with strange intensity.

“Yes indeed.  He is very famous, of course and a great servant of the Light.  Do you know him?”

The old Orc nodded.  “I did.  We were friends, and I hope we still are.  A good man and a brave and honourable warrior.”

It was so unusual to meet an Orc who held a human in high regard that Anduin was glad to hear the story of it.  Eitrigg told him how he and Tirion had met. “He saved me, young Prince, despite being called a traitor by his own people, judging his honour more valuable than his place in the world.  Saved me, and healed me with his power in the Light.  He thought they had stripped it from him, but it seemed the Light had other ideas.  Sometimes,” Eitrigg said softly, “the Powers put us on a path that seems treacherous, but leads to a greater cause than we know.”

Anduin sensed the Light around the old Orc, so faint as to be hardly there at all, but he had been blessed by a Paladin of the Light and such things never entirely vanished.  And Anduin knew that Eitrigg’s presence was a gift of the Light to him as well, as such blessings often were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Eitrigg and Tirion is one of my favorites in Warcraft lore, and it fit so perfectly into theme of what I was trying to write, I couldnt resist using it.


	3. Castle Moves

Anduin spent the rest of the day exploring Orgrimmar and writing his thoughts and discoveries in a notebook.  His Orc guards, who turned out to be named Merdok and Kellim, were suspicious of this activity but as they no orders to the contrary, they let him continue his note-taking.  He had no money, but apparently fairly impressive credit because he only had to show interest in an item for it to be purchased for him.  His Orc guards ended up lugging back such items as a fishing kit, a packet of used books, a set of dark red embossed suede boots in his size and a blue parrot in a cage with a very dirty laugh, who threatened everyone with a stick in its claw and darkly informed Anduin he was Happy.  He had apparently belonged to a goblin merchant in Booty Bay.  Which explained a lot, really.

Merdok suggested visiting a local eatery for lunch, and Anduin agreed.  It turned out to be a small but popular tavern in the aptly named Valley of Honor.  At first the rest of the Orcish customers weren’t too comfortable with him being there, but some hissed comments from his guides kept them quiet.  As he was sitting down to eat his fried bacon and eggs, he heard one of the Orcs matter something about a puking human minnow.  He calmly lifted a piece of bacon to his lips and said, “Well that’s better than being a puny breast-feeding nosepicker.”

Wood scraped as the Orc stood.  “What did you say?”

 “Oh, sorry, I thought we were engaging in an insult competition.”  Anduin chewed on his bacon and smiled.  “Don’t Orcs have those?”

The worker Orc mulled it over.  “Yeah, but I don’t play with humans.”

Merdok stepped in with surprising timing.  “That’s good, ‘cause I will.”  He sat down opposite Anduin and slammed two tankards of ale on the table.  “Five gold pieces and a handjob to the winner.”

“Certainly, but without the handjob.  You first.”

Merdok grunted.  “You’re such a coward, you puny prickless puttock!”

Anduin had to dig deep into his Orcish vocabulary.  He took a drink from his mug and found the right combination.  “Your brother is a puking pockmarked pignut!”

The Orc showed his teeth at the challenge. “Don’t have no brother, you mewling milk-livered maggot!”

Bets were being laid.  “Probably because your father,” Anduin offered thoughtfully “ was a dank dirty deviant.”  There was no word in Orcish for deviant, but it flowed nicely.

Merdok scowled.  “What’s a dee-vant?”

“Someone who likes wearing girls’ underwear and pretending to be human.”

Merdok slammed the tankard on the table.  “You…you…my father was a mighty warrior who killed hundreds of humans and ate their HEARTS!”

Anduin smiled mildly and held out his hand.  “You lose.  Pay up.”

The watching Orcs roared their approval and Merdok sulked.  “Cheater.  That word weren’t Orcish.”  But he paid up on the bet and slapped Anduin on the back so hard he banged his chest into the table.  “You’re alright, pup.  I gotta remember that about the pockmarked pignut.  Fits someone I know just perfect.”

The city time drums were sounding the seventeenth hour by the time they returned to the Hold.  Garrosh had finished his court list for the day and had left a message for Anduin to join him at the bathhouse before dinner.  Anduin collected a change of clothing and was taken to the bathhouse, where the Warchief’s Kor’kron bodyguards led him inside.

It had been cleared for privacy when he entered the main room, with only Garrosh sitting in the large steaming tub.  Feeling oddly shy, Anduin stripped off his clothes and slipped into the water on the far side of the tub.  The Warchief lay stretched out with his head leaning on the tub’s edge, his large body submerged to the chest.

“Have a good day wandering my city?” Garrosh asked, his tone relaxed.

“Very much so.  There is so much to see.  I have been taking notes, but nothing that might concern you.   I’d like to keep a diary.”

“I’ll have it checked by one of my people who reads human.”  He opened one eye.  “Come over here.”

He hesitated, then submerged and slid through the hot water , surfacing next to Garrosh.  Anduin brushed the wet hair from his face and tried to sit, but Garrosh intercepted him by sliding a hand under his naked bottom and lifting him up onto his lap.  He smiled lazily at Anduin’s startled reaction.

“You don’t recall the last time you sat here?  You were quite happy to oblige my request then.”

“I was a bit…drunk.”  He couldn’t help noticing how he was resting right next to a set of fairly respectable genitals.  “And I don’t actually remember much of it.”

“I remember everything.  I remember doing this, for example,” and he ran one hand over Anduin’s bottom and up his back, stroking the warm, wet skin languidly.  Up and down that hand went, sliding around and under and up again.  The pressure of his touch was surprisingly light, like a massage.  But it was fondling, no denying that, especially when he inserted one finger, very gently, into the slit between Anduin’s buttocks.

Anduin clenched his fingers on Garrosh’s chest, eyes widening.  “Are…you sure…you did that?  I’d remember that, I think.”

“Maybe I just thought of doing it.”  He leant forward and nuzzled the skin at the base of Anduin’s throat.  “Repeatedly thought of it.  Along with licking your skin just here.”  His tongue slid over the skin atop the big blood vessel in Anduin’s neck.  “I can feel your blood moving here.  Orcs sometimes bite down on their mate’s throats when they have sex.  I couldn’t do that with you.  But,” he said, as he stroked one tusk along the trail of the vein, “there are other things I can do that aren’t quite so fatal.”

Non-fatal things apparently included lifting him up so he stood on Garrosh’s thighs and the Warchief then taking his penis into his mouth.

Anduin’s head flopped back as he lost a fair bit of physical control.  His knees wobbled as he began  whining that started out being a request to stop and ended up the complete opposite.  The finger that had earlier explored went further, sliding in wetly through the clenched anal muscle.  It twisted, apparently searching for something, which it found because it pressed hard against a hidden little spot inside he’d never imagined existed.  Who would put a switch _in there!_ that made your nervous system go off like fireworks and your insides melt with pleasure under your skin???

 Part of his brain was going _Light Save Me!!!_ but the rest was trying very hard to ignore that part. 

It didn’t take long to achieve an orgasm, and Garrosh withdrew his mouth as he did, milking Anduin’s penis and stroking the semen across his own chest.  He slid down as his legs went rubbery and useless on either side of the big thighs, and sagged against the Orc’s chest, as limp as old leather, wondering if the whole ‘going with Garrosh for peace on Azeroth’ thing had been a terribly good idea.  The decision was pending, based on whether he could ever possibly resist it being done again….

Eventually his heart slowed, his breathing caught up with it and he was able to focus on the big body holding him.  He was sticky, wet, still shivering slightly in the aftermath, and utterly spent. 

It felt terribly wonderful.  Or wonderfully terrible, depending on what might come of it.

“So,” Garrosh said, as he stroked Anduin’s wet hair, “how do you think your father would feel if he were to hear of this….”

_“Sir, might I have a word with you in private?”_

_Varian looked up from the large tactical map on his workdesk and frowned.  “Mathias.”  His face paled.  “Is something wrong with Anduin?”_

_Mathias Shaw, head of Stormwind’s secret service, cleared his throat.  “In private please sir.”_

_Varian sent everyone from the room, and faced his spymaster.  “Is he hurt?  Dead?”_

_“Oh no sir, the Prince is alive and apparently quite well.”_

_The King visibly relaxed.  “Good.  Well.  What then?”_

_“Sir….”  Mathias walked to the side table and poured a generous mug of whisky.  “You might want to have this.”_

_“Mathias, what in Void are you….”  He took the mug and his eyes narrowed.  “Is it bad?”_

_Mathias Shaw never revealed all much of what he was thinking and feeling; the life of a spy had made him very self-contained.  But Varian could see the chief agent’s left eye twitching, which wasn’t good.  “It i s bad.  What’s happened to my son?”_

_“Sir, as I said, the Prince is quite well.  However…” he cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, “he seems…that is, he is apparently..”_

_“For Lights sake, man, spit it out!”_

_“Sir, you son is having intimate relations with Warchief Hellscream.”_

_Varian’s dark eyebrows twitched together in confusion.  “Intimate relations?  I don’t understand.”_

_“I mean, sire, that they are being…intimate.  With each other.”_

_The king’s face went white.  “Do you mean intimate, as in, sexually intimate?”_

_“Yes sire.”_

_Varian hunched forward over the desk, staggered.  “Hellscream is raping my son?!”_

_“Ah no sire.  My agents report quite definitely it is not rape.  It appears to be entirely consensual.”_

_“Wait…what?  Did you say…consenting?  As in, being, well, doing it…”_

_“Willingly sir.”  Mathias exhibited a slight pitying smile.  “Yes.  At least he isn’t being attacked or coerced.  That is one positive thing.”_

_“Oh, yes, that’s…that’s good.”  Varian picked up the mug and swallowed half of the contents in one gulp.  “That’s wonderful news.  My son is having sex with the Warchief of the Horde..  an ORC.. THAT ORC…but it’s not **too** bad because he wants to do it.”  He drank down the rest and hurled the mug at the wall.  He rested both hands on the map table, head down for a moment, then looked up at Shaw.  “The world has apparently gone mad.  Is he ill, damaged in some way?”_

_“Doesn’t seem to be, sire.  He is a priest, after all, and could heal any damage he sustained from the, ah…liaison…quite well, I’m assuming and…”_

_Varian waved one hand about and covered his eyes with the other.  “Shut up Shaw.  I’m struggling enough with the imagery as it is.”  He waved his arm about a bit more and Shaw helpfully pushed a chair under him so he could collapse into it.  “Do you have any good news for me?”_

_“Well, sir, he seems to be getting on well there.  Making friends, being much the same likeable lad that he’s always been.”_

_Varian peered through his fingers.  “Is that some sort of spy speak for him doing something else sexually strange?  Mating with a troll, perhaps?”_

_“Ah, no sire.  He is actually just a friendly young man.“_

_“Apparently very friendly, from what you are telling me.”  Varian stood, went to the sideboard and picked up the bottle of whisky.  “You are dismissed, Mathias.  I’m going to hide in my room, I’m going to get very drunk and I’m going to pretend you didn’t tell me any of this.  And if you could lie to me tomorrow and tell me you made a terrible mistake and it’s all just a bit of salacious gossip, that would be wonderful.  Thank you.  Goodnight”_

_“Good night sire.”……._

Anduin blinked and shrugged.  “Oh.  Well, I’m not sure.  He might be a bit…upset….”

Garrosh smirked and stretched back against the tub wall with his head on his arms.  “You’re a terrible liar.”  Then he laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially tried to make the bath scene all kind of yknow, wink wink bring on the big cajones but Anduin insisted on it being as much fun as possible. And I admit the Varian scene is somewhat crackfic. OK, more than a bit crackfic, but gave me the funnies.
> 
> And the insult scene is due to a good friend putting up a bunch of Shakesperian insults that cried out to be used, so I did.


	4. Pawn Storm

Some things appeared to be universal.  No matter where you went, everyone seemed to eat breakfast.  Even the Warchief of the Horde.

Anduin found it strangely comforting – despite the fact that breakfast for Garrosh included enough food to feed a starving village.  The Orc had an enormous appetite; he had half a dozen dishes in front of him and stuffed handfuls of food from each into his mouth.  Thinking it was rude to stare, Anduin returned to his own food, spooning up the fruit-flavoured porridge and licking honey from the spoon.  When he glanced up, Garrosh had paused in mid-eat and was watching him, his expression distracted.

The Warchief blinked and gathered up more food.  “You should eat more.  That slop wouldn’t sustain a baby.”

Anduin poured out more honey and ate an approving spoonful.  It was sweeter and darker than the honey that came from the Stormwind hives.  Garrosh had paused again and seemed fixated on his mouth, and he pulled the spoon out, clearing his throat.  “I usually eat  a light breakfast.  I tend to have a larger lunch.  Although my father is always saying I eat like a bird.”

“Talking of your father,” the Warchief said, dipping his bread into the gravy on his plate, “word has come that he signed the Treaty.  So you are now officially my guest and protected by its conditions.  Are your surprised he complied?”

Setting his food aside, Anduin felt conflicted.  One the one hand, he was glad his father had accepted it, because of the good it might achieve.  On the other…he had given in rather quickly.   It had taken the other leaders only a day to convince him.  It seemed...uncaring.  He dipped his head and stared at the plate.  _Its what you wanted after all.  Did you expect him to come charging in and carry you away to safety?  He might be angry at me for doing this on my own…._ He looked up, took a shaky breath.  “Did he…was any correspondence sent?”

“None.  Only the confirmation and a copy of the Treaty.  Don’t look so glum, boy.  He’s done the right thing by you, ensuring you’re protected as soon as possible.  I might want to slaughter him, but he protects what is his.”  Garrosh stood and wiped his mouth on a cloth.  “Come, we’re going hunting.”

Anduin wiped his mouth and hands on a cloth and stood.  “For what?”

“Food, and for sport.  I sometimes go out on the Barrens with a hunting party, we add to the butchers’ stock and its good practise for my bodyguards, stops them getting lazy.  You’ll come with me, do you good to get out and exercise those flabby limbs.”

Anduin controlled a sharp response.  The whole “weak Anduin” line was starting to get tired.  He might not match Garrosh’s brute power, but he’d proved he had his own strengths.  He kept fit, was well-built for someone his size and age, and … he knew Garrosh was trying to stir him up.  The Orc Warchief just couldn’t resist poking things to see if they poked back, like a child stirring up an ant’s nest.

Anduin gathered his notebook and went outside to where the Warchief’s party were gathering.  Normally, he was told, they would simply fly to the Crossroads and start from there, but they were taking a butchers wagon with them, so they would ride across the north west quadrant of Durotan and up into the hills bordering the Barrens.

Garrosh pulled a small pourch from his saddle bag and handed it to Anduin.  “Take these.  I know a Priest has magic of sorts, but these might be more useful if combat gets too close.”

Anduin undid the bundle, revealing two beautifully made daggers, with leg sheaths.  He looked up at Garrosh, surprised.  “Thank you, Warchief.  But should I have weapons…?”

Garrosh grunted and hoisted Anduin up on his wolf.  “You do if I say so.”  He climbed up behind Anduin, tucking him against his chest.  “You’ll have your own mount soon.  I’ve got the goblins looking for a horse for you.  None of my wolves would take you on their backs.  Make sure you grip Malak’s sides with your legs to keep your balance, and don’t go pulling her coat too much, she might decide to bite a leg off.”

The direwolf swivelled her head around and stared unblinking at Anduin for a few moments, then turned away with a snort.  She appeared to be as disdainful as her master.

The party consisted of five Kor’kron guards, four hunters with their hunting pets, and a butcher and driver on a wagon.  They rode out through the rear exit and over a bridge above the Southfury River.  They turned south, riding along the banks of the river, following the road to Farwatch Post.  It was a fine day that began cool but growing hotter as the day wore on.  Anduin let his cloak slip off above the wolf’s saddle as it became uncomfortable.  Garrosh had supplied him more clothing made to his size; that morning he wore a dark blue shirt made of spidersilk tucked into cream suede trousers and boots, with a dark leather silver embossed belt.  He opened his shirt at the throat to let in air to cool him and rolled up his sleeves before slipping on the matching suede gloves.  A big hand settled over his stomach and Garrosh spoke quietly from behind him.

“If you keep playing with your clothing like that, you might give me ideas.”

“Does it need me doing that to give you ideas? Anduin asked lightly, and Garrosh’s laughter rumbled against his back.

“Probably not.”  The hand lifted to stroke the stop of his head.  “I wish you to grow your hair longer.  It shines like Pogeyan’s coat.”

“The ghostcat of Stranglethorn?  I should like to see it one day.”

“You remind me of him.  He is a golden beast, he shimmers in the sun and is the cat spirit.  But he never attacks those who go to admire him.  Orcs rarely hunt him.  No sport in killing something so placid.”

They spoke through the ride, talking of the beasts to be hunted in that area of the Barrens.  There were Plaintstriders, the big flightless birds who could fight with a nasty kick.  Also zhevras, gazelles, the occasional wild kodo and giraffes.  There were also numerous predators but those tended to avoid larger groups.

As soon as they checked in at Farwatch Post, the group set off hunting.  It didn’t take long to half-fill the wagon and the butchers went to work quickly, gutting, skinning and storing the flesh away from the flies.  Packs of hyenas, drawn by the scent of blood, cackled and fussed a safe distance away, waiting for them to move on so they could squabble over the remains.  Anduin didn’t hunt but he watched the Orcs at work.  Their hunters were skilled and rarely missed, while Garrosh enjoyed taking on the larger prey with a spear and his huge axe.

The Barrens stretched out around them, humming in the sun.  It seemed an odd name to Anduin; it was anything but barren.  Grass grew knee-high, stirred by the wind into patterns like ocean currents.  It was mostly flat, except for scattered hills and one or two prominent mountains.  They met other groups now and again, who all saluted the Warchief before passing on.  There were caravans bringing trade from the docks at Ratchet, supplies heading for Crossroads or north to Mor’shan Rampart, other hunting parties, some local farmers who made a hazardous living so far from the city and adventurers just out to seek their fortune on the wide Barrens plains. 

Anduin knew there were Alliance bases out there, including Northwatch Hold.  Alliance patrols travelled through the area frequently as well as scouting parties sent to gather information on Horde activities.  He hoped they didn’t meet any of those; some outposts might not have received orders about theTreaty and if any were spotted it was unlikely Garrosh could resist attacking them.  Them being on Horde ground would be reason enough for the Warchief.

They stopped mid-morning for food and drink, and Anduin sat in the shade with Garrosh.  He ate some of the fruit, bread and cheese offered to him and drank water; it had been a dusty ride and and the dust managed to get just about everything, including up his nose and down his throat.  He watched flocks of birds circling, riding the thermals with their wings spread and heard the low rumbling call of a Kodo bull leading his small pack of females towards nearby water.  It was oddly peaceful.

“Different here from your home.  Not as pretty,” Garrosh said as he washed his hands from a water pouch and wiped them on a cloth.

Anduin drew his knees up, resting his chin on them.  “Very different to where I grew up. Elwynn Forest is beautiful, but predictable.  This is more rugged and vast.  I feel like I could ride on forever and there would aways be more just over the hill or around the bend.”

“Yes, it’s a large land, and there is much to see.  Were it not for the treaty I’d go vist the dwarves at Bael Modan.  Always a pleasure to break dwarven heads, they are so thick.  They don’t seem to get the idea that I don’t like them being there.”

After the meal break the party resumed their travel, skirting a large wooded oasis.  As they reached the Gold Road, there was a rumbling and a roar of voices as a group of centaurs burst out of the woods and charged towards the party.  There were at least twenty of them, mostly large males, all armed.

Garrosh slid from his wolf and shouted orders to his Kor’kron.  The Kor’kron warriors dismounted and formed a line facing the oncoming centaurs.  Behind them, the hunters also dismounted, loading their weapons as they waited for for their Warchief’s commands.  Garrosh stood in the centre at the front of his warriors.  He glanced at Anduin as he came up beside him and twisted his head backwards.

“Go back to the wagon.  Don’t argue, boy, I can’t fight and watch you.  Help protect the wagon and watch our backs.”

Anduin strapped the two sheaths to his upper thighs and settled the daggers inside.  He would normally have used a wand or staff but he had neither, so he would need to rely on what power he could draw with nothing to focus his power.  The wagon kodo was being calmed by its driver so he stood beside the butcher, who had a very large cleaver raised and ready.

Garrosh ordered the hunters to fire, and they launched arrows into the oncoming pack, sending their pets out as the same time.

The centaurs had no particular plan it seemed, beyond simply roaring and charging, which they did.  The hunters had put down some of the centaurs, but enough remained to smash into the Kor’kron line, hacking at the Orcs in mindless fury.

Garrosh yelled with delight and swung Gorehowl in a wide flat circle, slicing through three centaur in a spray of blood.  The other Kor’kron warriors, familiar with their Warchief’s fighting style, spread out beside him to give him room. Some of the centaurs, perhaps less stupid than their fellows, began a flanking move.  One large male centaur killed an Orc and leapt over the falling body, his huge spiked club aimed at Garrosh.

Anduin sprinted forward,  threw out a shield spell and leapt upwards, springing onto the centaur’s back.  He dug in his heals to the creature’s side, slid the daggers from their sheaths and plunged them into the humanoid back.  The centaur howled and bucked, toppling over backwards.  Anduin pushed himself off and twisted aside as it fell.

One flailing hoof lashed out and struck Anduin’s leg as he landed and he heard and felt a bone break.  He collapsed as the leg gave out under him, rolling aside frantically to avoid the thrashing centaur.  Even as he did, another one charged in from the side, saw him on the ground and reared, bringing down both front hooves onto Anduin’s chest.

Pain exploded in a pulsing wave.  He knew he must have screamed, and the part of him not swallowed by that pain waited for the centaur to strike again and end his life.  But it seemed to have disappeared when he opened his eyes.  He looked up into a familiar Orcish face.  He tried to say something but everything was spinning, it was difficult to even breathe.  There was the taste of blood in his mouth and each breath was hard…so hard…

Darkness swallowed him and took away the pain with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pawn Storm: a strategy where several pawns are directed towards the opponent's king.
> 
> My Orc hunter, the second toon I ever made, still his has beloved Pogeyan pet.


	5. Initiative

_The King rode up to the gates of Stormwind, returning from a day of manoeuvres with the city garrison.  He saw a familiar figure waiting at the gate and drew rein as approached the bridge._

_“Mathias?”_

_“Sire.  I have some word on your son.”_

_Varian’s fist clenched on the reins, making his mount twitch and stamp.  “Is he…?”_

_“He lives, sire, but he has apparently been badly hurt.”_

_“How?  Did that creature Garrosh harm him?”_

_“No sir, it appears the Prince was out on a hunting expedition with Warscream and they were attacked by centaurs.  His highness was hurt during the attack.”_

_Varian stared at Shaw, eyes unfocused as he fought down the rush of fear.  “Will he live, do you know?”_

_“We don’t know yet.  He is being…cared for…but as I said, apparently the injuries are bad.”_

_Varian’s head dipped and he sucked in a deep breath.  “Very well.  Please keep me informed.”_

_He couldn’t remember much of the ride through to the castle, and was thankful for the mug of wine his seneschal pushed into his hands as he entered his rooms.  He drank it down and shoved the mug aside, resting his hands on a side table and staring into a wall mirror.  Haunted eyes stared back at him.  Varian had the right to visit his son under the treaty conditions, but by the time he got there, it could well be too late.  And in the meantime his son’s fate rested with his greatest enemy…._

Surprise.  It was the first coherent thought.  Surprise at being alive.  Then relief, even when pain flooded in so that he convulsed and that caused more pain and he sobbed, gasping for breath, and that hurt too…

An unfamiliar deep voice spoke even as he felt the Light flooding him.  There were hands on him, multiple hands, and Prayers came from more than one of the owners of those hands.  He couldn’t focus his own power, it eluded him beyond a red mist of agony.  A well-known growl came from somewhere to the side;  threatening and aggressive, he couldn’t translate it as his muddled mind sought balance.  He heard one of the hovering healers respond, dimly, distantly in a soothing tone.

The healing continued, the pain gradually reduced and a hand lifted his head.  A cup touched his lips.  He thought someone told him to drink.

He took a sip, swallowed, almost choked.  Even drinking was difficult but he perservered and the cup was withdrawn.  He recognised the taste.  A healing potion, it also soothed him, helping to release some of the tension that was causing his muscles to cramp and spasm.

Eventually he was able to open his eyes and focus.  There were three of them; a Blood Elf Paladin, an Orc Shaman and a Tauren Priest.  Healing magic curled around him as each of the healers drew on their power.  He’d never been worked on by so many healers at once before, and it would have been fascinating if he hadn’t been quite so distracted….

He knew he’d been badly injured; he remembered bones breaking, broken ribs ripping into his lungs, others things being torn and shattered.  As his mind cleared he wondered just how much of that damage could be healed.  They were good, those Horde healers, but some things could not be mended.  About the time he thought of this, of how crippled he might be, a healing sleep finally claimed him.

 

The days blended together, one after another, as Anduin fought his way back from death.  Sometimes he thought it might be easier to just let go, to drift into the Light but something more powerful than even the pain kept pushing him back. 

His dreams were mostly bad ones, but one night, almost a week later, he dreamt of his mother.  He had no memories of her in his waking life but he knew it was her in his dream.  She looked like him; diminutive, blonde and blue eyed, fair skinned and beautiful, wearing a gown made of starlight.  She sat beside him and smoothed the damp hair from his forehead.

“Yes, I know it hurts, son.  But you must keep fighting.”

He felt shadowed and stretched, like a piece of old leather.  “So tired, mother.”

She nodded and bent to kiss his cheek.  “We come into the world with nothing and we leave it with nothing.  It is what we do with the days between that may enrich the world.  If you must pay in pain for the future, so be it.  You are so brave, and I won’t tell you to be braver still.  Just endure.  That is all you need to do.  Endure….”

When he woke from the dream he felt clear-headed for the first time in days.  He acknowledged the pain, rose above it and set about healing himself. 

 

Anduin was sitting in the sun on the Hold balcony, wrapped in blankets and dozing, when Garrosh arrived with news.

“Your father has requested…or should I say demanded..a visit with you.  As the terms of the treaty allow.”  The Warchief sounded annoyed.  “Varian Wrynn needs to learn manners, something I’d enjoy teaching him.  However, I have agreed to his ‘request’.  He will be here shortly.”

Anduin’s smile was blinding.  He sat up slowly, folding the blankets off his legs, and struggled to stand.  As he stumbled, he was picked up by Garrosh before he could fall.  He looked across at the Warchief, the happiness wiping away any pain.  “Thank you.  For that, and for letting him visit.”

Garrosh grunted and carried him without effort down the stairs.  “I can only hope he does something stupid and breaks the peace.”  The thought appeared to cheer him.  “Then you can watch me beat the idiot to a pulp.”

Anduin wisely kept his thoughts on that to himself.  As they reached the open area in front of the Hold entry, the sentry Windriders swooped towards the main gates, circling two gryphons that appeared above the walls.  For a moment Anduin thought they might attack and stiffened, hissing at the sudden pain, and Garrosh’s grip eased.

“Relax, the city guards have been informed and told not to attack first.  If he behaves himself, he’ll be safe.”

Merdok brought a seat forward and helped settle Anduin into it.  “Well, boy, this is an interesting day.  I get your see your famous father close up.  Never thought I would, except across a battlefield.”  The Orc stepped back a respectful distance and watched the two gryphons come into a backwinging landing a short distance away.

Most of the city’s population had turned up to see the unprecedented arrival of the High King of the Alliance.   Anduin recognised Bishop DeLavey on the second gryphon, but the only figure he could see was his father.

Varian Wrynn slid down gracefully from his gryphon and paused, looking from Anduin to Garrosh.  He was dressed in full regal armour, the great golden shoulderguards gleaming in the sun.  His sword, Shalamayne, was sheathed on his hip and he wore the Royal tabard of the King of Stormwind over his chest.

Varian hesitated for a moment, obviously supressing a desire to move straight to his son.  Then he turned, stepped forward and stopped just outside sword range, in front of Garrosh.

The two leaders eyed each other, silent and motionless, and Anduin knew they were involved in a small silent battle.  The first one to acknowledge the other would lose prestige, and Anduin knew that Garrosh would not speak first.  He would play on Varian’s anxiety to talk to his son.  And so it proved.  After some seconds Varian blinked and dipped his head minutely.

“Warchief.”

Garrosh smiled mildly.  “High King.” He gestured towards Anduin without turning.  “You came to see your son.  There he is.”

Varian walked to Anduin, who stood unthinkingly to get to his father.  He winced and hesitated and Varian grabbed him before he could trip, bringing his son up against his chest.  “My son….”

Anduin wrapped his arms around his father and lay his face against the broad chest.  “It’s so good to see you.”

Varian kissed the top of his son's head, then pulled back and guided Anduin into the chair, crouching next to him.  His dark eyes were shadowed.  “You look terrible.  How bad is it?”

“I’m a lot better, truly.  You know how these things work; even with the Healers doing such a good job, it just takes time for the body to regain its strength.  I am really doing well and, yes, the Warchief's care of me is all you could wish for.”

Varian cast a sideways glance at the watching Warchief then smiled at Anduin.  “You had me worried, boy.  I’ve brought the Bishop with me to check you over.”  He raised a hand as Anduin went to speak.  “Yes, I heard you, lots of healers and so on.  Just humour me.”

The Bishop moved forward and sank down next to Anduin, his expression placid.  “Good day, your Highness.  I hear you have had a bad time.”

“Yes, your Grace, its good to see you.”

“And you, though I’d prefer it were in happier circumstances.  If I may be permitted…?”

Anduin nodded and the Bishop settled his hand on Anduin’s head, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.  Power thrummed around Anduin’s head, gently flowing down over and through his body.  The Light sang around both of them, so powerful that it made both of them glow.  The Priest who had worked on Anduin had been strong in the Light, but the Bishop’s power was considerably greater.  Anduin had never known such perfect command of the Light and he realised how much he had yet to learn of it.

He sensed Garrosh moving forward and opened his eyes.  “I’m fine,” he murmured, his eyes glowing.  “The Bishop is just helping me.”

The older priest’s touch soothed those places that were still healing, easing pains he’d almost grown accustomed to.  When he opened his eyes, the Bishop nodded.  “You are doing better than I hoped, your Highness.  But .. your heart and lungs were damaged, badly.  I cannot guarantee you that they will ever completely heal.”

Anduin spoke softly.  “I know, I can sense that myself.” He smiled into the concerned old eyes.  “The Light will protect me, your Grace.”

The Bishop stood, laying his hand for one final touch on Anduin’s head.  “It will indeed.  I shall pray for you, my Prince.”

Varian sat on the ground next to his son, ignoring Garrosh and everyone else with total disinterest.  “So, other than nearly dying, how have things been for you here?”

Anduin told him of his time in Orgrimmar, of his explorations and the fascinating things he’d seen.  Varian listened, absorbing it all, holding his son's hand, and when Anduin had finished he spoke softly. 

“Anduin, I have heard of something…rather disturbing.”

“Ah.”  He flashed a quick look at Garrosh, standing some distance away with his arms crossed over his chest.  “I assume about Garrosh and myself?”

Varian nodded, his brows lowered in a frown.  “Did you really,” he asked with a touch of embarrassment, “ah, behave intimately with the Warchief?”

“Well, yes.”  He saw the dark eyes narrow in concern.  “Father, it’s fine, trust me.  When I get time I’ll explain it all.”

“I hope so,” Varian responded, looking more perplexed than Anduin could ever remember.  “I must admit I find it rather bizarre.”

Anduin couldn’t help laughing at the look on his father’s face.  “A side of me you never knew existed?”

“Not just a side, son.  An entire persona.  I don’t recall ever getting as drunk in my life when I heard of it.  It enlarged my horizons, visually.”

He couldn’t help it; Anduin burst into laughter, holding his sore sides.  “I can…imagine.”  He snorted in laughter, and his father smiled at the bright life finally showing in his son’s eyes.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh but I’m trying to imagine you that drunk.”  He bent forward and kissed his father’s forehead.  “My strong, upright father.  I know you will always be there for me, no matter how…bizarre…I might be.”

Varian sighed, obviously giving up on trying to logic the situation.  “No matter what,” he said, standing and running one large hand down his son's cheek.  “My time is limited, and as much as I’d like to stay longer, the damned treaty terms don’t permit it.  Know this, though, Anduin” he finished, his tone and volume increasing, “if any violence is done to you, I will come and get you, no matter the cost.”  He turned to face Garrosh.  “If I must bring the entire Alliance army with me, I WILL come.”

Garrosh stepped forward, menace and challenge in his stance.

“I have no plans to harm your cub.  In fact, I’m very fond of him.  Very fond.”

 Anduin saw his father's eyes begin to glow gold, the bright feral light spilling across towards the enlarged pupils.  Garrosh certainly saw it, and his own smile grew.

“Ah, Lo’Gosh.  There you are.  Why not challenge me now, Wolf Spirit.  Such a battle it would be.”

The air sparked with tension and Anduin spoke softly.  “Father.  Please.”

Finally, Varian drew in a deep breath and the golden light faded to brown.  He blinked and turned to look down at his son.  “The Light preserve you, my son.”

Then he turned his back deliberately on Garrosh and stalked to his gryphon.  He sprang onto its back, bowed to his son and launched himself into the air.

“Pity.”  Garrosh stepped beside him, taking in a long, satisfied breath. “I’d only heard the legend of Lo’Gosh.  Perhaps, one day, I’ll have the pleasure of taming the wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initiative: The situation where one player is making threats, and his opponent must respond to them.


	6. Combination

Anduin grew stronger as the days passed into weeks.  Late summer gave way to cooler Autumn, a welcome respite from the heat.  The trees added their leaves to Kalimdor’s colours, making a golden carpet on the land.  It rained more, turning the dust to mud and the rivers ran brown to the sea.

When he was well enough to move unaided, he went for walks around Orgrimmar, accompanied by the ever-president Merduk and Kellim.  It was an easy form of exercise as he became a familiar sight to the city residents; the small human Prince who had a ready smile and an open sunny nature.  It was hard for even the most dedicated Orc to hate him.

The unusual peace gave Garrosh time to work on the Horde’s economy.  New trade routes were established, new farms build across Kalimdor and for the first time in decades it seemed there would be no threat of famine.  Food was plentiful, the weather was good, the wealth of the Horde increased daily.

And Garrosh was bored.  Born and raised in conflict, the Warchief missed the rush and excitement of battle.  When he sensed boredom was making the Warchief cast interested eyes towards the nearer Alliance bases and towns, Anduin would come up with something to take his mind off it.  First it was the Naga in Azshara, who had blocked the Horde from accessing the valuable resources of that region.  The Naga put up a spirited fight that kept Garrosh and his army busy for weeks.  Trade Prince Gallywix was naturally hysterical with joy at this plan, since it opened the area around his city to exploitation.  He became a regular visitor in Orgrimmar, offering Anduin all sorts of odd gifts and unsuccessfully trying to bribe him. 

After that it was the turn of the centaurs of Desolace.  They had plagued travellers in the area for years, and Garrosh needed little persuasion to wipe them out.  While Anduin  wasn’t sure of the rightness of suggesting the death of so many semi-intelligent creatures, they and the Naga had caused great hardship and death for a long time and there was no chance of reaching them in any positive way.

One day, some weeks after his father’s visit, Gallywix presented Anduin with a chess set.  Where he’d located it he wouldn’t say, but it was a beautiful piece.  The board was made of richly coloured wood inlaid with silver, the pieces were carved from ivory and onyx.  One evening, after dinner, he set up the board and suggested to Garrosh that they play.

The Warchief looked down at the board and frowned.  “What is this chess?”

“It’s a game.”

He snorted, drinking from his mug of ale.  “I don’t play games.  Games are for children, and humans.”

“Well,” Anduin said, setting up the board, “it’s a very different game.  Its rather like a small war.”

That caught Garrosh’s interest.  He tapped one of the pieces.  “How is it war?”

“There are two sides, Black and White.  Think of them as…the Horde and the Alliance.”  Anduin grinned as Garrosh’s eyes narrowed.  “The aim of the game is to defeat your opponent by following a set of strict rules, and by putting your opponent’s King” he went on, pointing to the King pieces, “into a position where it can be captured and cannot escape.”

“Rules are for fools,” Garrosh said, “war isn’t a matter of rules, it’s a matter of strength and honour.”

“That may be so, but this game has rules, otherwise it would be chaotic and pointless.  Shall I explain them?  Of course,” Anduin said casually, as he picked up one of the pawns, “if you don’t believe you can learn it, I won’t bother you with it.”

He lifted his eyes to see Garrosh’s crooked grin.  “A feeble attempt, pup.  That’s the kind of tactic mothers use on their babes.  However, tell me these rules and I’ll see if I can stretch my poor mind to learn them.”

Anduin explained the game, and Garrosh was quick at picking up the principles and strategy.  He only questioned the use of the King piece.  “Why is the King not killed and removed from the board like the other pieces?  That makes no sense.”

“I don’t know exactly why,” Anduin answered, “it’s just the way it’s always been.”

“Stupid human honour system, probably.  So, if I play this, I change the rules.  The King can be killed.  That makes it more like a real war.”

The first game was as fast as it was brutal.  Garrosh played white and moved his Bishop’s pawn two rows forward.  Anduin moved his King’s pawn one row forward.  Garrosh followed by moving his Knight’s pawn two rows forward.  Anduin swooped down with his Queen and it was checkmate.

Garrosh glared at the board.  “What! I refuse to accept it!  I cannot be beaten in three of these moves!!”

Anduin grinned and pointed out his error.  “Pawns serve a purpose, Warchief.  They aren’t just weak little warriors with limited movement.  They protect your major forces.  If you move them as you did, you leave your King unprotected.”  He reached forward and knocked the White king over with one finger.  “My game.”

Garrosh slammed his fist on the table, sending the pieces scattering.  “I will beat you, I will destroy your game and, and…win!”  He picked the pieces up, set them back on the board and leaned forward.  “Again.  But this time,” he said, eyes narrowing, “we will bet something.  We will make it more interesting.”

Anduin shrugged.  “If you wish.  But I don’t really have anything to bet.”

“You do have something.  You have you.”

Anduin blinked.  “Me?”

“Yes, you.  If you win, you may ask one favour of me, and if it does not go against my honour or that of the Horde, I will give it to you.  If I win, and take your King, you will come to my bed for the night.”

Anduin’s mouth was suddenly dry and there was a loud buzzing in his ears.  Garrosh watched him intently, twirling the black King piece between his fingers.  “Well, pup?  Do you to take my gamble?”

“Al….right.  I agree.” His focus sharpened, aware suddenly of a tension in the room that had nothing to do with small-scale warfare. 

 _I can win this game easily_ , he thought, staring blindly at the board as Garrosh set up the pieces.  _I can get my favour, and who knows what I can ask for, what benefits for peace I can gain.  But if I lose…..if I lose…._   He felt suddenly unbalanced, as if the world had a tilted a little off true.

They began the game and Garrosh opened cautiously, choosing his moves with care.  He had memorised the rules and it became apparent that even though it was only his second game, he’d picked up the principles behind it as fast as he had the moves.  He was, after all, a Warchief accustomed to planning tactics and strategy on a life-sized scale.  He lost some pieces early but didn’t take long to catch up, and had soon taken the first of Anduin’s with a well-planned double move.

But Anduin knew he could still win.  Garrosh was thinking two moves ahead.  Anduin was thinking four.  The Warchief was still too willing to sacrifice pieces in the hope of luring Anduin into all-too-obvious traps. 

And then they came to a point where it would only take one move for Anduin to lose.  He had only to open a gap in his line and, if Garrosh saw it, he could swing a bishop into the gap and put Anduin’s king in checkmate.  He sat staring at the board for enough time to have Garrosh fiddling with impatience.  And then, with a hand that shook on very slightly, he made the move.

Garrosh crowed, grabbed his bishop and slammed it onto the board.  He reached across and knocked Anduin’s  King over.

“Anduin picked up his King piece and stared at it, wondering if he had totally lost his mind.  A large hand closed around his and he looked up in Garrosh’s hungry gaze.  “Did you let me win, pup?”

Anduin shook his head.  “No….no, I let me win, I think.”

Garrosh stood and pulled Anduin to his feet.  “Look at me.”

Anduin looked up into the Warchief’s dark eyes.  “I will not force you.  If you truly do not wish this, tell me now.  Once we begin it will be too late.  Are you agreeable?”

Wordless, Anduin nodded and dropped the piece back onto the table.  He allowed Garrosh to lead him through into the Warchief’s bedroom and watched in a daze as Garrosh undressed.  Standing naked before him, it was difficult not to recall just how large the Warchief was.  Garrosh pulled him close and moved him around until the back of his knees hit the bed; he fell backwards and Garrosh stretched out beside him.

“Have you been with another?”

Anduin shook his head.  “No.  There never seemed an appropriate time and my rank made it difficult to form any relationships.”

“I like that,” Garrosh said softly, as he bent his mouth to Anduin’s throat.  “I like being the first to touch your body in this way.  There will be no mark on you other than what I put there, no touch inside you before mine.”

He undressed Anduin slowly, one layer at a time.  As he did he marked his skin with his tusks, small cuts on throat and chest first.  He circled each nipple, biting down on them and Anduin arched up at the sharp little pain that penetrated far deeper than he’d thought possible.  When Anduin was completely naked, Garrosh turned him onto his stomach.

“You are tight all over, like a bowstring.  Perhaps this will help.”  Garrosh reached across to his bedside table and took a small bottle, flipping open the lid.  “The healers gave me this to help you if your muscles stiffened from the injury.”  He poured the sweet-smelling oil onto Anduin’s back near the shoulders, then began working the oil in.  His touch was strong but not painful and Anduin closed his eyes as the large hands moved over his back and loosened the tight muscles. 

Garrosh worked his way down, stroking Anduin’s waist and hips and around the side of his buttocks.  Surprisingly, he went down his legs, massaging the thigh and lower legs muscles, stroking and squeezing his feet.  It was blissful, his muscles and skin relaxed and warmed until he was limp and comfortable.

Then the slick hands moved back up to his behind.  They circled the big buttock muscles, kneeding and stroking and while he was still considering how good that felt, a finger slid between them and nudged into his arse.

Anduin hissed in a breath and twitched, but Garrosh held him firmly in place with one hand as he continued to work the finger inside.  He twisted the finger, working on the puckered muscle, and when he’d softened it he added a second finger.  The other hand was removed and Garrosh lifted him and pushed a cushion beneath his hips to raise him.

Neither of them spoke; the Warchief was intent on what he was doing and Anduin was too shaken to speak.  He knew what would come of it, knew that Garrosh would shortly open him to his satisfaction, and would then put that sizeable cock inside him.  He knew he should be frightened of that – but all he could feel was excitement and anticipation.  His body had begun to crave that touch, and to want more.

And then Garrosh did what he’d done in the bath; he pushed his fingers against that magical spot inside Anduin and he arched upwards as pleasure rippled through him.  He gasped, cried out something unintelligible because it was the most exquisite thing he’d ever felt.  Until Garrosh did it again and it became the second most exquisite thing.

Garrosh removed his fingers and lifted Anduin onto his lap.  The Orc’s cock was already half-aroused and he took Anduin’s hands and poured oil into them.

“Service me,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, and Anduin wrapped his slick hands around the big cock.  Inexperienced he might be, but he knew what would please him and he applied that knowledge to Garrosh.  He put one hand above the other and squeezed, working his hands up and down the pillar of flesh.  It hardened rapidly under his fingers and a small voice said _it wont fit!!_ But in that moment he knew it would, that he would adapt his body to accept it.  He bent forward to lick and suckle at the swollen head.

Garrosh hissed and grabbed his shoulders, strong enough to bruise.  Anduin tasted the sweet oil and the faint, bitter flavour of the pre-ejaculate.  Inexperienced as he was, he didn’t try to take it all into his mouth, but simply worked at the head and continued to rub and squeeze the rest. 

He was pulled back abruptly and then Garrosh slid his hands under Anduin’s arse and lifted him up.  The Warchief looked into Anduin’s eyes, his own wide and hungry.  “ You will never…want another in you, never wish…to be taken by another.  You belong to me.”  And then he lowered Anduin onto his cock, pulling him open with the tips of his fingers.

Anduin arched backwards as the big cock pushed up into him.  Even with the oil and the stretching, it hurt.  But he had grown accustomed to pain and he called on the Light, whispering a prayer, guiding it into him to ease and open himself to Garrosh.  He gradually sank down, taking more and more, panting and shaking in reaction to the sense of that pressure and heat.  Finally, Garrosh was fully sheathed in him.  The big Orc’s chest shuddered and Anduin rested his hands there, feeling the rapid thudding of the big heart.  His breath came in gasps, sweat dripped into his eyes making him blink but he still managed to push himself up and surge back down again, pumping himself up and down to meet Garrosh’s thrusting.

He groaned as Garrosh hit the sensitive skin inside him, sparking even more pleasure to match and exceed the pain.  Garrosh growled, thrusting upwards even harder than before, slamming against Anduin’s arse, the big balls pushing against him with each thrust.  His hands dug into Anduin’s hips, he leant forward and bit down on his shoulder, drawing blood and licking it away, tasting and marking him.

Garrosh surged up a final time, arched backwards, ground out an exultant wordless shout and came violently, filling Anduin with his seed.  At the sensation of that, the feeling of that ultimate possession, he spasmed and came across Garrosh’s stomach.

When the world came back into focus, Anduin found himself on the bed sprawled half-across Garrosh, his head on the damp chest, one arm laying across it.  The Warchief’s arm was wrapped around him, holding him close.  Anduin closed his eyes and sighed.  He was tired, a bit sore, sticky and damp and although part of him was shocked at what he’d done, the rest of him was anything but.

“Did I satisfy you?”  Garrosh asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes.  Very much.”  He opened an eye.  “And did I….?”

“Little Prince, you have no idea how much.”  A large finger stroked the bruised bite mark on Anduin’s shoulder.  While it would fade in time, Anduin suspected he would always feel it there, as if the mark went far deeper than his skin. “But there is something you can do for me…..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combination: A clever sequence of moves, usually a sacrifice, to gain the advantage.


	7. Advantage

The goblin paused in his work of cleaning the Warchief’s privy as he heard what sounded like a shout coming from the bedroom.  He pressed one large ear to the door.

“That’s huge!  You aren’t going to….put that in….”

“Stop whining, you are such a weakling.  Now hold still.”

There was the sound of a gasping cry and a moan.  “Ohh….hurts...stop…please…don’t  ”

A moist sound something like…sucking…and another groan. 

“I will be done faster if you stop pulling away from me…..and now again…”

The pained cry was repeated, more strange sounds….”  Don’t shove it…so hard…”  Followed by a sound like a sob.

 

In the bedroom, Anduin stared down at his swollen nipples, fascinated despite the pain.  Each was pierced and set with a gold ring.  A small trail of blood seeped from each piercing..  He touched them gingerly, hissing at the slight pain that arced through his chest.  “That’s….different…”

Garrosh bent his head and sucked on Anduin’s right nipple.  His rough tongue lapped around the swollen flesh, licking the blood away.  He trailed his tongue across to the left nipple and repeated the treatment.

And Anduin could only watch and feel that bizarre combination of pleasure and pain spike through is chest. 

“Delicious.  But you are such a baby, Prince.”  Garrosh raised hooded eyes.  “Orc children are pieced before they can walk, and they make less fuss than you.”  He studied the effect of the piercings and nodded slowly, tapping each ring in turn.  “It is a good look for you.  And what is next?” he asked, stroking a finger along Anduin’s cock.  “Perhaps studs here?”

Anduin shivered.  The idea of a hot needle anywhere near that area was not inspiring.  “I .. don’t think so.”  He glanced up to the Warchief’s chest, and raised a hand to run it slowly along the swirling patterns tattooed to the big’s Orc’s body.  .

“You wish me to mark you?”  He watched the pale hand move up his chest to his shoulder, the fingers stroking one particular pattern.

“I think….this one.”

Garrosh’s eyes widened.  “That is the symbol of the Horde.”

Anduin smiled lazily.  “Yes, I know.  Would it please you to mark me with this, Warchief?”

Garrosh hissed, and wrapped a large hand around Anduin’s arm.  “It would please me very much  Though not perhaps your father.”

Anduin nodded, still moving his fingers over the Horde tattoo, his expression mild yet intent. “Well, yes, but it could be smaller than this, and put somewhere discreet.”

Garrosh lifted him and stroked a hand across one buttock.  “Perhaps here,” he said softly, then his had moved around between Anduin’s legs and up to the soft skin above his penis.  “Or here.”  A big finger stroked in a circle, almost a match to the movement of Anduin’s hand.  “A private place,” and his voice dropped lower as the fingers moved downwards, stroking over penis and balls, to slide up into the slick warmth of Anduin’s arse.

Anduin closed his eyes and sighed, as Garrosh bit gently on the still tender nipples.  “I will mark you with it and wherever you go, you will be one with the Horde.”

“It…will hurt…down there,” Anduin said breathlessly, caught in the circle of arms and mouth and fingers.

“Of course it will.  Pleasure without pain is like food without taste.  And you will taste my pleasures for a very long to come….”

The goblin didn’t hear the last part of the conversation; he was already out through the city’s front gates on his way to the docks.  Someone, he was sure, would pay handsomely for this bit of information….

_Varian stared at Mathias Shaw’s white face, his sight already hazy and red.  He reached stiffly for his sword laying at the edge of his desk.  When he spoke his voice was deathly calm._

_“I will go to Orgrimmar.  I will get my son.  I will kill that monster.  And nothing that anyone does or says will stop me.”_

 

Evening in Orgrimmar was a busy time for the traders.  Bands that had been out during the day hunting or patrolling returned for the evening meal, and to select those things they needed for the following day’s work.  Anduin enjoyed browsing the traders at that time, he could see travellers from all over who came to the big city in that time of peace to trade their wares. 

Merdok and Kellim often ended up loaded down with bags and packages but they’d stopped objecting to their odd duty, since the Prince was an easy companion and they had grown to enjoy his company.  He usually bought them a drink in thanks for their efforts, though he didn’t need to.  They both knew he shared their Warchief’s bed – having the duty of guarding him, they tended to be close by most of the time.  If they found it odd that Garrosh Hellscream wanted to mate with a human, and a human male at that, they didn’t say so aloud.  They shrugged it off as being beyond their understanding or need to know, probably tied up with something political.

Anduin had left them to collect his latest buy from the clothing trader and had walked outside when he heard a whistle.  He froze; it was an old signal his father had taught him, a call to attract his attention when they hunted together.  He turned and saw two figures in the shadows between two shops.

One of the figures was undeniably his father.  Anduin moved towards him, eyes wide with growing fear.  “Father!  What are you…”

“Quiet, son.”  Varian turned to the figure next to him.  “Rameth, start the portal, get us out of here now!”

Anduin saw the mage begin the swirling portal incantation; as he did Merdok and Kellim appeared from the doorway.  They saw Varian and the mage, dropped their parcels and went for their weapons.

Before Anduin could do more than raise a hand in denial, Varian had his sword out in response, had thrust it forward and into Merdok’s chest, killing him instantly.  Kellim yelled and leapt forward.

“Alarm, alarm!” He stumbled over Merdok’s body and Varian despatched him in one slashing move.

“Nooooo…” Anduin cried out.  “No father, what have you done!”

The alarm call echoed down the streets; lanterns flared, a horn blew and figures erupted from doorways all around them.  Varian grabbed Anduin’s arm and snarled.  “Rameth, now!”

The mage continued the incantation and enacted the last swirl of his arms to launch it when an arrow appeared in his chest.  The symbols faded and he collapsed, dying as he fell.

From then on it was chaotic.  Varian fought his way into the street, trying to cut a path to the main gate.  Anduin knew it was impossible; Horde fighters swarmed around him, spells erupted against stone, the big open courtyard before the Hold was filled with Orcs and goblins, trolls and blood elves. 

And as he thought it would end, with both of them lying dead on the stones, a voice spoke above the shouts, loud and commanding.

“Draw back!  Hear me, I said draw back!”

The fighters stopped and began a slow retreat, leaving Varian and Anduin standing alone in an empty space.  And through a gap in the crowd came Garrosh, Gorehowl in one hand, his eyes gleaming and teeth bared.

Anduin was aware of his father’s pain; despite his armour he’d taken many blows.  His face was covered in blood from scalp wounds, his face was bruised, his left arm hung down and was dripping blood from a lucky strike between the shoulder and armguards.  Anduin had tried his best to keep his father alive but launching any kind of decent healing or attacks in that mad fight had been nearly impossible.  It had been hard enough just to keep himself upright and protected against the pack attacking them.

Garrosh stopped, raised his axe and smiled.  “Stealing into my city like a wharf rat.”  His entire attention was on Varian.  “Hardly the noble act of a King.”

Varian straightened and settled himself, legs spread.  He looked into Garosh’s eyes and said one word.

“Mak’gora.”

Even as Garrosh grunted his acceptance, Anduin slid forward, his back to his father, facing the Warchief.

“Please.  Don’t.  Garrosh, please.”

Garrosh’s eyes narrowed and he snarled.  “Move aside.”

Anduin was desperate.  He could sense the damage his father had suffered and though Varian was a great warrior who would normally be evenly matched in a fight with Garrosh, this time he wouldn’t stand a chance.  Anduin raised both hands, shaking.  “I beg of you.  Don’t kill my father, please.”

“I said – move aside.” The tone was low and furious.  “I won’t tell you again.”

He lowered his hands and stepped backwards against Varian, head up, suddenly calm.  “Very well.  I share his challenge, as Prince of Stormwind.  I am his shield of Light.”  He could hear his father telling him no, save yourself my son, but all he could do was look up into Garrosh’ furious glare and call on the Light to sustain him.  He felt its glowing presence swell out from his heart, making his body tingle and giving him its strength and peace.  He would protect his father to their joint deaths.

Garrosh roared, raised Gorehowl….and slammed it into the ground at Anduin’s feet.  He stood, his chest heaving, eyes red and enraged.  He pointed at Varian.  “Take that and put it in a cage.”  He gestured to one of his Orcs.  “And you, fetch my whip.”

He reached out and grabbed Anduin’s arm, pulling him to the centre of the courtyard.  He spun the Prince around to face him.  “You,” he said, slowly, coldly, as he tore the shirt from Anduin’s back, “made me back away from a Mok’gorah.”  He pushed Anduin forward and turned him away.  “You shamed me before my people.”  Anduin watched, stunned, as an Orc handed Garrosh a long-handled whip set with half a dozen long lashes.  Garrosh bent over his shoulder, near to his ear.  “You deprived me of the greatest honour kill an Orc could have.  You will stand there and take punishment.  If you fall, I will start again.  You will bleed as your father should have bled, for the dishonour you have given me.”

Anduin heard the lashes whistle and then they struck.  Each lash bore a metal tip and they gouged into his flesh, ripping it away.  He cried out in shock and pain, then stuffed a hand in his mouth to stop further cries as the whip struck again.  He tried to self-heal, to stem the pain but each strike rocked him, unbalancing his concentration until it was all he could do not to beg for it to stop.  Pain swallowed him, he felt the blood soaking into his pants and the world began to fade in and out.  Somehow he stayed conscious, and finally, after an eternity, it stopped.

When he finally managed to move his aching body, he realised he was standing alone in the centre of the courtyard.  At his feet lay the bodies of his two guards, their arms crossed on their chests, their weapons in their hands.  The sight of that, more even than the pain, finally brought him to tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advantage: when the current position of the game favours one side over another.


	8. Counterplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a small bit but I really wanted to get it on to the story to keep it moving.

There just didn’t seem anything to be gained by standing out in the middle of the square, bleeding and chilled, being stared out by passing strangers, and feeling utterly useless.  Anduin bent gingerly, picked up the torn shirt and walked slowly into the Hold.  He noted he was being followed by two Kor’kron but they stopped outside his door when he entered.  Not protectors this time, he thought wearily.  These were guards.  With his father’s forced entry to the city and attack on members of the Horde, he had shattered the treaty.  Anduin was no longer a hostage.  He was a prisoner.

He stripped off the bloodied pants and, wearing just his undergear, went to the small washroom and began cleaning away the mess.  As he did he began sorting through the jumble of emotions, to clarify his mind.  Right then he needed to start thinking and not just feeling.  Having a shredded back didn’t help in the thinking area and, after washing away the blood he set to work on fixing that.  It was mostly superficial; shocking when inflicted but even in his fury Garrosh had held back on his arm.  He could have cut Anduin to the spine but he’d simply stripped away flesh and cut into the upper levels of muscle.  Painful, but not fatal.

And humiliating.  In his entire life, Anduin had never been punished.  Taught, lectured, occasionally stood in a corner facing the wall when he’d been cheeky.  But never beaten.  He was, after all, a Prince of the line, the heir to Stormwind.  The son of….

His heart thudded and he balled his fists.  His father was somewhere in a cage, far more damaged than he was, unprotected and alone.  And right at that moment Anduin couldn’t do a thing to help him.

There was only one person who could.

He finished healing himself as best he could, given his unsteady state of mind, and dressed in clean clothing.  As he stood in front of the mirror running fingers through is damp hair, he paused, and dropped his hands.  The face looking back at him looked haunted.  It looked weak. 

And that wouldn’t do.

Anduin straightened, ignoring the small flashes of discomfit, and took in a deep, steadying breath.  He was not just the son of Varian Wrynn, he was Anduin, Prince of Stormwind, Priest of the Holy Light, defender of the Alliance.  The Light flared within him, lifting his heart, giving him strength. 

_I’ve been a pawn long enough.  It’s time I lifted my game._

He walked out his door and stopped in front of the Kor’kron guards.  “Take me to the Warchief.”

They looked at each other and then back at him.  “We have orders only to guard you.”

“Fine, then just tell me where he is.  You can guard me all the way there.”

They considered this, then shrugged.  “He is in his rooms, he left orders not to be disturbed.”

Anduin turned and walked towards Garrosh’s door. “He'll be disturbed, I can pretty well guarantee you that.”

It didn’t take long, being only one door along and he didn’t give the two big Orcs much time to think about it.  Anduin didn’t bother knocking, he just pushed the door open and walked through.

Garrosh was at his desk, reading through a report and he looked up, an annoyed frown.  “I said….” And he stopped, and the frown turned into a glare.  “Who gave you permission to enter?”

“I did.”

Garrosh unfolded himself from the chair and dropped the scroll on the desk.  “Did your beating not teach you anything?”

“Yes, it taught me you have a whip and know how to use it.”  Anduin reached back with one foot and kicked the door closed behind him.  Garrosh’s eyes narrowed and his teeth flashed.

“Perhaps you need further education.”

Anduin rested both hands on his hips and slowly, insolently, looked the big Orc up and down. He curled his lips.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw small steam tendrils rise from Garrosh’s nose.  “I was a bit distracted at the time.  You won’t do that to me again, I promise you.”

It needed no more than that.  Garrosh lowered his head and charged.  But Anduin wasn’t there; he’d anticipated that and leapt sidways and up onto the bed.  As Garrosh slammed into the door, sending it and himself out into the hallway, Anduin jumped down, crouched and leapt up onto his back.

They rolled around the passageway, sending furniture and various Kor’kron Orcs scattering.  Garrosh roared as Anduin bit into his ear, drawing blood.  He reached back, grabbed one of Anduin’s arms, and threw him off his back.  Anduin rolled down the hallway and bounced to his feet, avoiding a chunk of broken bench that Garrosh hurled at him. 

The fight continued along the hallway, down a set of stairs and into the main Hold meeting room.  Anduin moved faster than he ever had before, drawing on the Light to make him fly.  He soared over Garrosh’s back, kicking him in the head as he went, bouncing off furniture and walls and twisting aside from the Warchief’s lunges and strikes. 

He took damage from the constant rebounds against walls and floors, from the occasional successful hit from Garrosh but he set part of his awareness to healing himself as he fought.  He felt nothing could touch him in that heightened state of being, although he knew it would soon fade.  And he didn’t hold back, striking at whatever parts of the Warchief he could reach, with hands and feet and the Holy power at his command.

As he felt his strength starting to fade, Anduin bounced onto an unbroken table and jumped upwards, grabbing one of the ceiling beams.  He swung up and over and sat on the beam, looking down at Garrosh, his chest heaving.  Garrosh was crouched down, staring up at him, and he wiped a smear of blood from a cut lip.

The Warchief straightened slowly, and nodded.  “For a Priest, you fight dirty.”  He grinned.  “I like that about you, whelp.”  He waved a hand.  “Come down, monkey.”

Anduin swung his legs back and forth.  “Are you done with the whip?”

“Yes, no more of that for you.  Come down, I need a healer, I’ve been assaulted.”

Anduin slid from the beam and Garrosh caught him.  He held Anduin against his chest, with their faces only inches apart, and lifted one hand to smooth the damp hair from Anduin’s face.  He spoke softly, his eyes shadowed.  “I wish….”

“I know.  I perhaps deserved a reprimand.  Not that I wouldn’t do it again, you understand.”  He touched the fingers holding him.  “You have a heavy hand, Warchief.  But I’m tougher than I look.”

Garrosh laughed.  “You are that.”  He ran one hand down Anduin’s back, very gently.  “I will never hurt you so again.  This I swear, on my honour.”

The Light sparked in Anduin’s heart as he lay against Garrosh’s chest, giving him renewed hope.  Perhaps the path ahead wasn’t quite as shattered as he’d believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Counterplay: Aggressive actions by the defender.


	9. Control

The cage was hardly more than six paces in both directions, with high barred walls capped with vicious metal barbs.  The floor of the cage was dirt and straw, with a fur pallet and bucket off to one side.  It had no roof, just a wooden pole stretched from one wall to the other.  In the centre of the pole was a metal ring set underneath, and from the ring hung a chain.

The chain was attached to the collar around his father’s throat.

Varian lay sprawled on the furs, his back to the bars.  The remains of his armour and padding had been removed and replaced with leather strapping that covered his vital organs and little else.  He appeared to be asleep, or unconscious, head laying to one side, eyes closed.

Anduin turned to the Orc guard sitting on a box outside the cage door.  The Orc wasn’t a Kor’kron; from the look of his gear his was a prison guard, and an unpleasant looking one at that.  He paused in working on a nasty barbed whip, sneered up at Anduin and scratched himself under one arm.

“What’d’you want, dog boy?”

The Kor’kron behind him snorted.  “Watch your mouth, Peezark.”

“Why should I,” Peezark grunted, continuing to scratch.  “The Warchief beat this one with a whip.  Best way to treat a dog or a human, I reckon.”

“Open the cage.”  Anduin didn’t bother offering a response, but kept his distance from the Orc, since he seemed to be infested.  “Now.”

Peezark stood, hunching himself over.  “You givin’ me orders, doggy boy?  I hear you like being taken like a dog, so it fits both ways.  So t’speak.”

A deep voice spoke from behind him.  “One more word, scum, and I’ll cut off your balls.”

The guard blanched, turned, and debased himself.  “Warchief!  Lokt..”

“Don’t finish that.  I doubt you even understand it.  Get that gate open as you were told.” Garrosh moved to join Anduin, eyes narrowed in dislike, and he sniffed.  “And then go jump in the river and wash yourself.  Your stink offends me.”

The guard complied, fumbling with the keys and swinging the door open.  Anduin stepped through, noticing that Varian had come awake and was watching him from bleary, bloodshot eyes.

He sank down to his father and laid a hand on his arm.  “Have you been seen by a healer?”

Varian took Anduin’s hand and squeezed it.  “Yes, when I was first put in here.  I think my body has just decided to punish me for my misdeeds.”

Anduin looked aside briefly, to see that Garrosh had taken the guards aside to give him some privacy.  He settled down, cross-legged, next to Varian and began to check him over.  “Well, nothing too serious I see.”  He muttered a prayer, sending healing waves through his father’s body and Varian sighed in relief.

“Better.  Thank you.”  He relaxed back against the bars once more.  “And you?  I saw what was being done to you as they took me away.  Did he…?”

“Yes.  He whipped me.  And yes, it hurt.  But there was no permanent damage.”  He sensed his father’s concern, and squeezed his arm again.  “Truly, I’m fine.  I made him very angry, shamed him before his people.”  He smiled, with a touch of sadness.  “He told me I’d deprived him of the greatest honour kill a Warchief can have.  And done it by forcing him to deny your challenge.  I was really on a losing streak there, and it was either kill me, or humiliate and punish me.  He did the latter.  Once he would simply have killed me.”

They studied each other, father and son, and Anduin curled a hand around his father’s lower arm.  “Why did you come here?  I don’t understand.”

“I received information that you were being..raped..by him.”

“Raped!”  Anduin flushed and lowered his voice.  “He’s never done that to me, not once.  Who told you that?”

“A goblin, who obviously needs to be shot.”

“I don’t really understand this, father.  You’ve never been one to rush off without considering the matter, without ensuring your information is correct?  Why would you fail to do so in such a dangerous and difficult situation?”

Varian looked thoughtful, and embarrassed, at the same time.  “That is very true, my son.  I have no idea why.  I felt…driven.  I’ve tried to reason it out.  I don’t think I’m using it as an excuse, but I truly felt like I was being pushed in a certain direction.  At the time I simply saw it as justification.  Now I’m not sure.”

Anduin stared at his father, his focus shifting inwards.  His tone was thoughtful.  “It may not be so unbelievable.  Given my being here as well.”

“That’s something I still do not understand.”  Varian took his son’s hand, idly working the smaller fingers in his.  “You gave me reasons in Dalaran but they never made much sense.”

Anduin focused on the fingers.  “Do you remember Wrathion?”

“Deathwing’s son?  Hard to forget him.”

“I overheard him one day talking to one of our champions.  He was describing a vision he had, of something terrible in Azeroth’s future.”

“You know, son,” Varian said gently,  “Wrathion is somewhat untrustworthy.”

Anduin laughed.  “You can say that again.  But this time I think he was telling the truth.  What he was describing, how he spoke of it, rang true and I had a real sense of that.  He spoke of Azeroth dying in flames, if the threat he perceived wasn’t met by a powerful defending force.  And when he described it,” Anduin finished grimly, “I thought I recognised it.  I thought he was talking about the Burning Legion.”

Varian straightened, intent.  “The Burning Legion!  But, how?  There is no portal, no way for them to get here.”

“The Burning Legion has invaded us twice before, and they appeared to have made a way through to us easily.  And on those earlier occasions the historians theorised that their full force had not been sent, only a vanguard, a relatively small invasion force.  They were only beaten – not defeated, simply pushed back - at great loss by Azeroth’s defenders. If they were to attack again and use their full force, it would be almost impossible to stop them.”  Anduin’s hand shook.  “I think they are coming back, father.  I don’t know when, but I think they are.”

“But how is that connected to your being here?”

“Whatever his flaws may be,” Anduin said, turning to watch Garrosh talking to his guards, “and he has quite a few, he is the most powerful warrior to ever lead the Horde.  His Orcs love him, the rest of the Horde respects his strength, and he is learning to be a true leader.  But there is darkness in him, and that darkness is a flaw that could be used by a cunning foe with the right sort of power.  I believe I am called to strengthen him, to help cast that darkness out, to be his shield of Light as well as the Alliance.  And to make it so that if the Legion does return, the Horde will have a leader willing to fight beside the Alliance in defence of Azeroth.”

Varian pursed his lips and whistled.  “Son, that’s quite a destiny.  If it’s true.”

“I think it is, I believe it is,” and he shrugged.  “I can’t prove it of course, but it feels right to me.”  He focused on his father.  “Talking of futures…”

Varian smiled as he slid a finger beneath his collar.  “My immediate future is more or less decided, son.”  He pointed at his body.  “Have you seen what I’m wearing?”

“Only that you aren’t wearing very much at all,” Anduin said, head to one side.  “What..?”

“These,” Varian said mildly, tapping the leather straps across his chest and hips, “are pit fighter leathers.”

Anduin straightened, eyes wide.  “You mean…he is going to make you fight?!”

“I’d say that’s fairly certain.”  Varian patted his son’s arm.  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“But…but..that’s…just not right!”

Varian laughed.  “Son, I’m a warrior.  Fighting is what I do, and I do it very well.  As long as he keeps the fights fair, I’ll be fine.  But,” he finished, suddenly serious, “if the opportunity presents itself, if you can escape safely, I want you to leave.  Foresight or no.”

When Anduin started to refuse, he continued.  “While he has you, Anduin, he knows he can control me – he knows I will do anything to keep you safe.  If you’re gone, I have more freedom in what I can do.”

“I understand father, but I can’t go.  Even if I had the chance to, which I doubt.  I’ll just have to do my best to get you out of this.”

“Well, if you manage that” Varian said, as Garrosh came to take Anduin away, “you’re not just a priest, you’re a miracle worker.”

 

Varian had been right, Garrosh couldn’t resist having Lo’gosh in his pens and not see him fight.  Each day warriors lined up to test him and each day he beat them.  He was a magnificent fighter and despite his worry for his father, Anduin couldn’t stop watching the fights, in case Varian needed healing.  He wasn’t allowed to do it during a match but Garrosh allowed him to attend to his father afterwards – as long as he healed both parties.  Though sometimes the losers were beyond healing; Varian didn’t hold back, any more than his opponent’s did.

He visited his father each day, taking along a pack of decent food, fresh water and even some wine.  They would often have lunch together and if it wasn’t for the fact that his father had to fight for his life every day, it would have been a good time.  Anduin and Varian hadn’t had a lot time to just be together over the years.  On the third day he arrived while Varian was in one of the exercise pens, warming up for a late match.  The Orc guard Peezak was standing off to one side, tapping his whip stock against his leg, obviously hoping Varian would do something wrong so he could use it.  He glared at Anduin as he arrived and spat on the ground close to Anduin’s feet.

“One day,” Varian said in a thoughtful tone, “I’m going to rip that Orc a second arsehole.”

Peezak straightened and his piggy eyes narrowed.  “What did you say, slave?”

“Oh nothing, Master Peezak, sir.  Just commenting on the weather.”

Anduin shook his head and laid his basket down next to the fence.  “You will push that bastard too far one day and he’s just rotten enough to stab you in the back when you are sleeping.”

Varian grunted and peered into the basket.  “Years of pit fighting in my youth taught me to sleep light.  Is this fruit bread?”

“Yes, I know it’s a…”

There was a sudden commotion and Anduin caught movement out of the corner of his eye.   He turned and saw a large side gate swinging open.  A moment later an enormous Helboar charged into the yard.

It was as big as a horse, with numerous spikes jutting out of its red skin.  Its eyes were mad and froth flew from its tusked mouth.  At the same moment that Varian swung around it saw the two humans; it turned, pawed the ground, squealed and charged.

Anduin sprinted to the side to clear Varian’s field of movement and to split the boar’s target.  It focused on Varian, who was standing, arms wide, watching it and waiting.  When it reached within a bodylength of Varian he ran forward, vaulted over the Helboar’s back and rolled to the fence.  His sword was set in a bracket on the fence and he pulled it off and spun around.

Anduin drew on the Light, muttered a prayer and threw a protective shield around his father.  He circled, hunched low, watching as the Helboar pivoted on its hindlegs and charged back towards Varian.  At the last moment Varian twisted to the side, spun in a circle and brought Shalamayne down on the Helboar’s neck.  The sword penetrated deeply, slicing through the Helboar’s spine.  It roared in agony, stumbled a few feet and fell, dead.

He didn’t realise they had an audience until the sound of cheers echoed across the yard.  The sound of the fight had drawn Orcs and others from the surrounding area around the yard and they’d climbed the fence to watch the fight.  Anduin trotted across to his father, who was cleaning his sword on a rag he’d taken from a nearby crate.  He didn’t have a mark on him and was barely sweating.

Peezak, Anduin noted, wasn’t among the nearby Orcs.  “I think he decided not wait until you were asleep.”

Varian laughed as he wiped his sword clean.  “I guess not.  At least I might get some roast pork for dinner.”

 

Garrosh had heard about the unexpected battle when he returned to the Hold, and gave an annoyed grunt.  “And I missed it.  Pity…”

 

After a difficult day of seeing his father almost defeated in a fight when he’d beenpitted against an Ogre, Anduin had gone back to the Hold to relax and consider how he could persuade Garrosh to let his father go.  Nothing had come to mind so he’d settled on the Warchief’s ample bed with a book, some fruit and a pot of tea, and drifted off to sleep.

He was halfway between sleep and waking when Garrosh entered the room, and it might have been just a dream when he sensed the Warchief’s thoughts….

_Anduin lay sprawled on his side, one leg bent upwards, one arm curled under a pillow, his hair, which had grown over the weeks, scattered across his face.  Garrosh sat quietly on the bed watching him breathe.  The pup always looked so peaceful when he slept and he wondered for not the first time what there was about this one that attracted him._

_He was human, and most would say that automatically meant he was ugly.  Small, slender, pale, tiny teeth.  Fragile.  He carefully picked up one limp hand, holding the wrist between his fingers.  He could snap that wrist with a twist of his hand, could crush the skull beneath the fall of gold hair just as easily.  And yet…and yet he was strong, resilient, patient.  Far more patient than Garrosh, and far more forgiving._

_He had hated humans all his life, had killed so many of them he couldn’t even count the number.  Yet after becoming close to this one, he’d started questioning that hatred.  If the humans could produce one such special being, then who knew how many others there might be.  Perhaps there was something to be said for blind hatred.  He had no concerns about his beliefs before Anduin.  The world was clear and his hatreds had been a comfort, back then._

_He discarded his armour and lay on his back next to his prisoner, his possession, his possible weakness.  Anduin shifted, muttering in his dreaming, settling against him and slipping his head onto Garrosh’s chest as he so often did.  Well, if he was a weakness, it was one Garrosh was prepared to accept.  To do otherwise was to lose him, and that he would not allow….._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Control: The domination or sole use of a square, group of squares, file ordiagonal. One is also "in control" when one has the initiative.


	10. Transposition

Anduin picked at his food, his eyes unfocused.   Something hard poked him on the arm and he blinked, focusing on Garrosh on the other side of the table.

“You keep on ignoring me, pup, and I’ll be forced to do something drastic to get your attention.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, what’s wrong with you?”

Anduin moved the food around the plate with his fork.  “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“So nothing wrong means not touching your food except to shove it about and not saying a word during the whole morning?”  Garrosh snorted, eyes bright.  “You are a liar.”

Anduin shrugged.  “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

“That would be a first.  I normally can’t shut you up.”

That earned the Warchief a brief smile.  “I guess I am a bit of a chatterbox.  I just have something on my mind.”

Garrosh grunted.  “Let me guess.  Your sainted father.”

“Well, yes.”

“The answer is no.” Garrosh raised a finger.  “Don’t bother arguing.  I’m not releasing him.”

Anduin sighed and dropped his fork, folding his arms on the table. “You cannot keep my father chained in a cage indefinitely.  If you do, he will die.”

“He’s doing fine.  Best warrior – myself aside – I’ve ever seen.  Nothing he’s met in a fight has come near to stopping him.”

“Yes, he’s good, and yes I can keep healing him.  But,” Anduin said, his eyes shadowed, “he will still die.  Being caged like that will be unbearable for him.  He’ll just stop fighting back.  If he can’t escape, can’t find a way out, he will choose to die.”  He looked into Garrosh’s eyes.  “I’d really rather he didn’t die that way.  He is a decent man.  He deserves a far better passing than that.”    

Garrosh looked thoughtful.  “I can perhaps understand that.  Yet you ask me to release the most powerful leader the Alliance has ever had.  I must think of my own people first.”

“Is there nothing you can see of equal value to him, nothing you could ask of the Alliance in exchange?”

Garrosh stroked his chin, eyes narrowing.  “I will think on it.  No, I will not speak of it further now.  I will think, and I will give you my decision later.”                                     

Later that same day, Anduin was on his way to the small lake to do some fishing when a messenger caught up with him.  He was ordered to attend Garrosh at the fighting pits and he turned to head that way.  He found the Warchief standing outside Varian’s cage.

“You sent for me?”

“Yes.  I have considered your request for your father’s release.”

Varian stood and approached the cage door, his eyes intent.  Garrosh faced him, arms behind his back.  “I will make this offer one time and it is not open to negotiation.  The conditions are two – first, the Alliance will withdraw all forces from Kalimdor, will vacate all towns, bases, all positions and leave.  Second…Prince Anduin will stay here with me permanently – and he will swear allegiance to the Horde.”

Varian snarled.  “I refuse.  I absolutely refuse!”  His face flushed with anger and Anduin stepped close to the bars. 

“Father…”

“No!” Varian roared, his entire body rigid.

Garrosh snorted.  “You have until sunset to give me your decision.  After that it is withdrawn.  You will stay in my cage and fight till you die, and I’ll keep your son anyhow.”  He turned and stalked off.

Varian’s big hands were clenched around the cage bars, and they shook under the pressure.  His eyes gleamed gold and his teeth were bared.  Anduin stepped in front of him, not touching him because at that moment Varian would have lashed out at anyone.  He waited and said a quiet prayer, calling up the Light to wash over both of them.  In time the fighting rage faded from his father’s eyes and his body calmed.  But the anger remained.

“Anduin, don’t even ask.”

Anduin nodded and slid to the ground with his back to the bars.  “Very well, I won’t.  You are my father and if you order me not to, I won’t.”

A hand slid through the gap in the bars to rest on his shoulder.  “Please son…”

He turned and took Varian’s hand.  “No, I understand.  It’s a hard ask, to give up all the towns and bases…”

“Damn that!  Towns can be retaken.  I won’t let you join the Horde.  To lose you that way…it’s an intolerable condition.”

Anduin let his head lay against the bars and Varian stroked it gently.  “It’s certainly unprecedented.  Has a human ever even been accepted into the Horde before?  I doubt it.  And I’d lose my place as your heir, I understand how that would be a problem.”

Varian’s eyes were dark with worry.  “Do you think that’s all that bothers me, son?  Titles and position and what people might say?  If we both died in battle, Stormwind would find a new King and a new heir, and the Alliance would carry on.  I just…I don’t want to lose you.  To never be able to see you, be with you again…to know you are here beyond my reach.  How can I stand that?”

Anduin sat up straight, his heart twisting at the sign of his father’s pain.  He kissed the big hand as it stroked his face.  “I wouldn’t be on another planet, father.  I’d be right here, doing what the Light needs me to do.  And I assure you I’ll find a way to bring us together again.”  He smiled and shrugged.  “Who knows, I might end up leading the Horde one day.  Wouldn’t that be a turn up!”

Varian smiled in spite of his anguish.  “I believe you could, my marvellous son.  But to gain my freedom at such a cost…”

“The really important things in life come at a high cost.  It’s what gives them value.”  Anduin released his father’s hand and stood, dusting his clothing absently.  “I will leave it to your judgment and abide by your decision.”

And later that day, Varian Wrynn signed an agreement that gave him his freedom, guaranteed that Kalimdor would be turned over to the Horde – and his son abandoned his title and swore his allegiance to the Horde…

 

The sun was setting over Durotar as Anduin climbed to the forward battlements and made his way to the wall above the city’s main gate.  Shadows were lengthening across the red earth as the watch changed from day to night and the city horns sounded the evening hour.

He leant forward on the stone, watching a herdsman bringing his cattle up to the gate, while a goblin trader waited to enter with his small trade caravan.  A hawk screamed in the sky as it soared overhead and he could hear the faint clang of a blacksmith’s hammer working on repairs at the guardpost behind him.  Orgrimmar settled itself in for the night like a great, contented beast.

He felt the slight sting on his left upper arm and glanced down at it, running his fingers around the pink, tender skin.  The Horde symbol stood out in the torchlight, the sign his people had hated for so long not hidden away but worn like a badge on his flesh.  Garrosh had seen to the work being done, and Anduin sensed the Warchief’s private pleasure as he took the Horde’s mark.  Anduin knew that once it would have been a victory for him, a coup counted over the Alliance.  But it was more now, he thought, it was an historic moment, when a son of the Alliance joined with the Horde.  There could be no way but forward now, and no looking back, because back was simply the past and forward was hope.

He heard Garrosh’s familiar step behind him and then he was standing alongside Anduin looking out over his homeland.  _My homeland too_ he thought, as a large hand settled atop his.  He couldn’t see the future, could only hope that he’d made the right choices.  Wherever his path led he would always be Varian Wrynn’s son and a large part of his heart lay with his father.  He would be for the Alliance, and he would also be for the Horde, and he would balance both those dedications within the Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transposition: To arrive at the same position from different move orders.
> 
> I didnt start this story with the idea of it being a part of a series, but various ideas that spawned while writing it told me that it very well could be. I hope you've enjoyed my take on a rather odd and interesting pairing, I certainly had huge fun writing it.


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